


The War Is Won Before Its Begun

by Flames_and_Jade



Series: Wartime Pete & Patrick AU [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Adrenaline Junkie Pete, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - War, Cute Nerdy Briefer Patrick, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Navy SEAL Pete, Some angst, Wartime Romance, cuteness, wartime banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: It's 2002 during Operation Enduring Freedom. Petty Officer Pete Wentz walks into the command tent for the only part of an operation he hates--the briefing. Blah Blah Blah...words words words, death by powerpoint. All that changes when Staff Sergeant Patrick Stumph comes to the front. Longish brown hair that was just a bit out of regulations. Blue eyes that were hidden between thickly-rimmed black glasses that had equally thick lenses. An Air Force uniform that fit well, the sleeves rolled up to show slender arms and elegant fingers. Pale skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years but that reminded him somehow of his grandma’s china…and oh God. The plumpest, most beautiful lips he had ever seen. Maybe he should reconsider his opinion of these things.AKA--where Pete is a crazy adrenaline-junkie SEAL and Patrick is an adorable mission briefer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is something that's been kicking around in my head for a while, and I'm finally putting it up. I've got a fair bit written but it's not exactly a fleshed-out story yet...so updates may be sporadic. Thanks to @Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace for the cheerleading! I know literally nothing about the Navy, the SEALS, or the rest of this...so it's all just coming from mad googling on my part. If you see anything that's totally stupid or whatever, please let me know! 
> 
> Also, there will be some good-natured banter in this story between Pete and his team ["your mom" jokes, etc.]. I don't mean any of it to be offensive, but rather to show the bond between them is deep enough they can joke about race, ethnicity, orientation, etc. There's also a good bit of cussing, so if any of that isn't your cup of tea, I totally understand =)

There was nothing more exciting than a pre-mission briefing.

 

 _Said_ _no one ever._

 

Throwing himself into the uncomfortable metal chair, Petty Officer First Class Pete Wentz huffed out a breath in frustration and boredom and the pre-op jitters that never failed to show up for the party. His best friend, Petty Officer Barney Garcia jostled him as he scooted by to sit down and made sure to shake his ass in front of Pete’s face, which of course meant he had to slap it playfully. Before anymore shenanigans could take place, the distinctive voice of their intrepid Squad leader rang out. 

 

“Alright, yeh idiots! Shut yer fuckin’ holes and pay the fuck attention.” 

 

Pete sighed melodramatically, making Barney laugh silently, before he directed his attention to the front of the room…and the smirk froze on his face at what he saw. Longish brown hair that was just a bit out of regulations. Blue eyes that were hidden between thickly-rimmed black glasses that had equally thick lenses. An Air Force uniform that fit well, the sleeves rolled up to show slender arms and elegant fingers. Pale skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years but that reminded him somehow of his grandma’s china…and oh God. The plumpest, most beautiful lips he had ever seen.

 

“Hello, um. I’m Staff Sergeant Stumph, and I’ll, uh, be giving you your site survey brief.” Pete noticed the guy’s hands were shaking as he used the clicker to move to the next slide. “A C-130 flying at 35,000 feet will take you to the site, for your insertion the landing zone, which is field about 1/4 of a mile from the target.” He pointed light grey square in a grainy satellite image. “Winds are light and favorable, and we’ve calculated there are no obstructions to your jump within 500 yards.  As to the objective, the main entrances are here, here, and here.” As he spoke, his voice became more and more confident, and his hands stopped shaking. “We’ll have a drone flying overwatch to catch any movement within the compound, but we’ve estimated that the total number of hostiles will be around twenty. We don’t have any indications that they have anything beyond small arms, but there’s always a chance for surprises.” He clicked to the next slide. “Chatter indicates that they are planning an attack to coincide with the end of the holy week, but we don’t know what form that will take. So be prepared for anything, but especially for the possibility of explosives in the secondary building, here, which we assess to be their main staging area.” 

 

He took them through the HVTs, or High Value Targets, that were assessed to be staying in the compound, as well as what to look for as far as explosives went. Moving through well-organized slides, he outlined the compound’s composition, possible choke points, and the best ways to move through it. He pushed his glasses up and looked back at them, turning his back to the slides. “Please remember we’ll have an EOD team on standby if you do find explosives. Do not attempt to disarm anything you find on your own.” His eyes swept over the group, and seemed to linger on Pete as his closing statement left those gorgeous lips. “I have your prep packets here…and good luck.” 

 

There was the sudden burst of noise as the various operators began to talk about gameplans, insertion maneuvers and bets on what would break first—the plane or the radios. Pete waded through the press of bodies to the front of the room to approach the young Sergeant, who held a stack of red folders like a shield in front of him. 

 

“Hey.” He was surprised at how soft the word came out, and he cleared his throat. “I’m Pete. Nice brief.” The answering flush and stammered _thanks_ was everything he could have hoped for and more, and he couldn’t help the grin that split his face. “I haven’t seen you before, you new?” 

 

The young man nodded. “Um, new to here. I was up at Kabul for the last four months, but…something happened to the guy’s wife who was here before, so they transferred me.” 

 

Pete nodded. “Ahhh…well, welcome to Camp Bastion, home of the sexiest SEAL team and more crumpet-eaters than you can shake a stick at.” 

 

“Thanks.” The young man’s eyes were even more beautiful up close, but Pete couldn’t quite look away from any part of his face. He was gorgeous and totally out of place in the rough-and-tumble world of knuckle-dragging Marines, oddball British military and cocky SEALs that were buzzing around them in the command tent. “It’s…definitely unique.” 

 

A barking laugh jumped from Pete’s lips before he knew it. “We’re all unique here. I think you have to be as a prerequisite. That guy—“ He pointed to a dark-haired young man in Royal Air Force fatigues, “—he’s the straightest dude I’ve ever met who loves dicks more than all the drag queens in Vegas put together. Ask him to show you his daisy chain if you don’t believe me. And Captain Cost over there is the reigning hot sauce shot champion, and Colonel Veyera—“ He pointed to a short-haired, pinch-faced female in Army camouflage, “—I’m pretty sure has the biggest balls of anyone here.” 

 

A smile finally flitted across SSgt Stumph’s lips, and Pete felt like punching the air in celebration. His mouth tucked into a smirk that made Pete’s heart’s do something wierd—he’d have to ask the doc to check him out for some sort of murmur or palpitations or something—before asking Pete in a wry tone, “And what’s unique about you?” 

 

Pete couldn’t help the grin that split his lips. “Well…that’d be no fun if I just out and told you. Guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” 

 

“Petty Officer Wentz! Quit your fuckin’ yapping and get a fuckin’ move on! We don’t got all day!” The thickly-accented voice of his team leader cut through Pete’s brain as he tried to think of how in the world he had thought that was a good thing to say, and he turned to see that the tent was nearly empty.

 

“Aye, Chief!!” 

 

Pete gave what he hoped was a cunning mock salute to the pale guy and turned to leave. Something tugged on his arm, and he turned back to see a shy smile blooming on the young SSgt’s face as he held out the red folders. Pete took them, trying not to shiver when his hand brushed the other man’s and his mind instantly began trying to figure out if it was on purpose or not.

 

“I’m Patrick, by the way.” His eyes flitted down to the folders tucked under Pete’s arm. “I hope the prep helps…let me know if you guys want them built any different and I’ll make them that way next time.” 

 

Pete couldn’t help the way his earnest tone made him want to take stupid chances. “So if they suck, I get to come back and tell you? Well shit, Patrick, if that isn’t a date I can’t wait to keep.” He winked as his new crush blushed furiously and turned away, already doing summersaults in his head. 

 

_Oh man…I’ve got it bad, for a nerdy briefer no less!_

 

~//~

 

Pete made sure to go back and tell Patrick that the mission packets were great, but he hadn’t been at his desk. So he left a sticky note that said _They sucked! (kidding—they were awesome)._ He had deliberated for a few seconds before he gave a mental shrug and scribbled a little winky-face.

 

He came to look forward to the briefing as much as he did the adrenaline-rush of the operation. Patrick’s preparation was always thorough, and he always seemed to have the answers to any question that the team threw at him. It became Pete’s thing to go get the packets from him each time, and each time he did somehow their fingers would end up brushing for the briefest of moments. 

 

The third briefing that Patrick gave them was for a night mission, so they were all kitted out with night vision goggles and night scopes on their rifles. He jogged up to the front of the room to get the folders, and noticed the dark circles under Patrick’s eyes, hidden behind his glasses from far away, but visible now that he was close. 

 

“Not sleeping well?” 

 

Patrick gave an ironic huff and roll of his shoulders. “Sleeping isn’t the problem, finding time to sleep is. I’ve been here since 0300.”

 

“What the fuck? Why?” Pete felt like he should yawn in sympathy.

 

“Mmm…there was a lot to do for this one, and my people didn’t…” He petered off for a moment, an annoyed look flashing over his face. “…Well, let’s just say they aren’t me.” 

 

“Well…thanks for being you, I guess. It was a great brief.” The words were out of Pete’s mouth before he could stop them, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. The grin he gave Pete was sincere but adorably dopey, and it made his heart do that weird fluttering thing again. 

 

“Here you go.” He handed over the packets and their fingers brushed as the stack of red folders settled into Pete’s grasp, making lightning skitter over his backbone. “The top folder is yours.”

 

Pete gave him an inquisitive look, but Patrick only smiled again and walked away. The top of his blouse hung down below his belt, but not so long that Pete couldn’t see his ass, and appreciate the hint of curve that was visible through the thick fabric. Shaking himself, he turned away and headed out of the tent. Settling into the helo, he strapped in and pulled the red folders from his backpack. He handed the first one to Garcia, and then yelped when he remembered Patrick’s words. 

 

“Hey give me that one back.” Garcia eyed him suspiciously. 

 

“Why? This your lucky folder or some shit like that?”

 

Pete gave him a superior glare, trying to look nonchalant. “Maybe it is? Give it back, dumbfuck. Don’t mess up with my night-op juju.” 

 

Shaking his head, Garcia handed the folder back. “You’re a weird one, you know that, white boy?” 

 

Pete threw the second folder at him, laughing as he reached down to cup where his package was under the protective gear. “My mama’s Jamaican dummy, so I’m black where it counts!” Garcia rolled his eyes, and Pete couldn’t help sliding in one more joke before the helicopter’s blades started rolling and speaking became a near-impossibility. “Besides, what kinda cholo name is _Barney???_ It's so cute your mom named you after a purple dinosaur!”

 

Garcia’s good-natured protests about where he should stick it were drowned out as the engine roared to life and the helicopter lifted off the ground. In the roaring silence, Pete leaned his head back and let the darkness envelop him as he tried to shift the flow of his thoughts into the appropriate mindset for murder and mayhem. Then he remembered—the packet.

 

Pulling on his goggles, he flipped on the night-vision and opened it. There was a sticky-note on the first page, and a small part of Pete’s mind noted that the handwriting was masculine but bordered on _girly_ with its neatness and the small flourishes. _Be safe. I’d hate to not see your smile when you come to tell me how much these suck._

 

The grin that split Pete’s face felt like it had enough wattage to light all of Afghanistan.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

About a month after meeting his favorite member of the Air Force, and after a particularly delightful mission full of mayhem and death, Pete was practically _buzzing_ when he galloped into the command tent. Colonel Veyera glared at him from her throne behind the massive stack of computer monitors and he slowed to a halfway respectable trot. 

 

Rounding the corner, he saw Patrick sitting hunched over his desk, his head dropped into his hands with his glasses pushed up on his forehead. 

 

“Hey!” Pete hopped to a stop next to his chair, causing Patrick to start and look up at him, glasses falling to the tip of his nose with a thunk. It was dorky and adorable and it made Pete’s heart melt a little bit as he reached out to push them back up. The answering smile that blossomed over Patrick’s face was a mixture of exhaustion and genuine happiness. 

 

“Hey. You’re back.” Pete thought he heard relief in Patrick’s voice, and he decided to shelve that for later, and focus on the more pressing concern. 

 

“Um, yeah, I’m back, but more importantly I’m fucking _starving_. Want to go grab chow?” Patrick cast a longing glance at his computer, where Pete could see about five thousand windows and tabs opened. Before he could come up with an excuse, Pete grabbed at his arm, pulling him from his chair. “Come on. It’ll still be here when you get back, I promise.” 

 

Patrick sighed but Pete could tell that there was no real struggle there. Grabbing his hat, he locked the computers and grabbed his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. A brief look flitted across his face that Pete couldn’t identify, but it was gone as soon as he straightened up, replaced with a smile. “Let’s go.” 

 

It was only a 10 minute walk to the dining tent, but in the oppressive heat it felt longer. Pete rambled about the mission, talking excitedly about the way they had penetrated the outer defenses and entered the objective amidst a hail of gunfire. Patrick was a bit flushed, but he shook it off as a side effect of bringing the pale Airman out into non-climate controlled real world. Soon enough they stumbled into the chow tent moving through the line as they talked about home (Chicago for Pete, and all over for Patrick) and Star Wars. They argued about who would win in an ultimate battle to the death between Darth Vader and Darth Sidious, and Pete went on a lengthy defense of the five lightsaber forms and how adaptable defense was the key to victory. Patrick took that in good-naturedly, and they discussed the merits of the various large-scale battles and talked about their favorites—Patrick loved the Battle over Coruscant in Episode III, while Pete was a fan of the Battle of Hoth.  

 

Finding an open spot space at the long rows of tables that took up the rest of the hall, they sat across from each other. Patrick began to eat like he hadn’t seen food in a week, chewing hastily and washing everything down with big gulps of gatorade.

 

“Dude, slow down. I don’t want to have to use my shitty medical training on you. I kill people, not resuscitate them.” Patrick gave him a wry grin. 

 

“Sorry. This is the first time I’ve actually eaten real food in a couple days.” 

 

Pete looked at him, concerned and doubtful. “What the fuck? Why? Do they chain you to your desk or something when we leave?” 

 

He shook his head, smiling that little half-smile that Pete had come to know meant he was thinking a lot more then he let on, and finding something funny. “No. I just…you know how I told you my people weren’t me?” Pete nodded, stuffing fries into his mouth like they were going to run away if he didn’t eat them fast enough. “What I meant was…they’re all all really new, I mean to the job. They don’t seem to quite know what they were doing, and since I’ve been here I’ve been trying to…streamline the way things are done. They’ve been…hesitant to implement some of my changes.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just easier to do things myself.”

 

Somehow, even though he’d only known this guy for a month or so, Pete felt like he was still totally within his rights to roll his eyes dramatically. "Type-A much??" He smirked at the answering eye roll, and crowed, “Gotta beat them into shape, Stumph!” Affecting the distinctive drawl of his favorite South Park line, he puffed out his chest. “Yeh gotta assert your authoritayyy!” His antics earned him a laugh from his dining companion, and he felt strangely proud of himself. “But seriously. You do an amazing job…I just don’t wanna see you like, kill yourself or pass out from exhaustion or something.”

 

Patrick shook his head ruefully and put another bite in his mouth. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He reached up and took off his glasses, wiping them on the napkin wedged under his plate. Replacing them on his face as he chewed, he gave Pete an inquisitive look.  “So, why the SEALs?” 

 

“Ummmm….duh! What else is there when you want to be a super badass??” Pete grinned. “I mean, come on. We kill people and fuck shit up in the air, in the water, on land…hell, if we had like a war in space, I’m pretty sure the SEALs would be the ones to go up there first. Like fuckin’ Super Jedi or something!” 

 

Patrick just shrugged good-naturedly, that small smile back on his face as he scooped peas into his mouth. They sat in companionable silence for a while as people left the table, heading back out into the roiling heat.

 

“So…why are you a briefer?” Pete scooped some mashed potatoes onto the piece of chicken he had sawn off and shoved it in his mouth. “I can tell you don’t like talking in front of people.” 

 

Patrick gave him a wry look. “Would you believe me if I told you it was because I wanted to stay in the air conditioning?” 

 

He couldn’t help the laugh that cracked out of him at that. “Well, that wouldn’t be the worst reason, and it means you’re definitely smarter than I am.” He hacked away more at his chicken and managed to get another reasonable bite. “But I don’t think that’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” The younger man dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Pete noticed that he was fiddling with his napkin nervously. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me, I didn’t mean to—“

 

“No, it’s fine.” Patrick smiled in a totally self-deprecating way that made Pete’s stomach tie itself up in a knot. “I don’t know why I feel like its okay to tell you this, but I guess the worst you can do is hate me.” Pete started to protest, but was shushed as Patrick threw his napkin at his face. “I’m kinda a conscientious objector, or at least, that’s the easiest way to explain it.” 

 

There weren’t many things that made Pete’s mouth stop in its tracks, but apparently this was one of them. For a solid three seconds. “Wait so…you like, don’t believe in killing or the use of Force or anything? Then what the fuck are you doing _here,_ briefing SEAL teams before we go fuck shit up?” He winced at how accusatory he sounded. “Sorry, that came out really strong, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

 

Patrick just shook his head mildly. “It’s okay…I’ve heard worse.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s not that I think what you’re doing is wrong, at all. I just…couldn’t do it myself. I couldn’t kill anyone. That’s why I’m a briefer—all the other intelligence jobs have some sort of component of violence or contributing to it. Doing this…I’m keeping you guys safe, giving you the information you need to be efficient and stay alive. That’s the best thing I think I can do.” 

 

Pete considered. It made sense. It explained that look on Patrick’s face as he picked up his rifle in the command tent. But… “Why did you join at all, then?”

 

A soft shrug rolled through the younger man’s body. “My dad was a general in the Army. So I was kinda raised with the expectation that I’d do this. But I guess more than that…I really wanted to do my part, you know? When I saw the towers come down, I knew I couldn’t sit on the sidelines, moral convictions or not. I just had to figure out what I _could_ do to help.” 

 

He couldn’t help the wave of admiration that rolled through him at the earnestness of those words, and the sympathetic ache of shared fury at the mention of 9/11. Pete nodded and cocked his head at Patrick. “Well…I think that’s actually pretty incredible.” He grinned. “But I’d stick to the air conditioning story if any of the rest of my team asks you.”

 

Patrick laughed at that and nodded. “Yeah, I have a good line that I tell people when they ask. Something like ‘oh I want to work at the CIA someday and this was a good step, plus it lets me do my part, blah blah blah.’” A blush crept into his cheeks. “I guess…I just felt okay telling you the truth, for some reason.”

 

It felt like his arm moved on its own, and before he knew it, Pete had reached across the table and squeezed the pale hand that was resting across from him. “I’m glad you did.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick get to know each other a bit more, find some common interests, and Pete does a bit of mulling over his options...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented and shown me such love!!

 

 

<< _Going to be at the MWR tent until 2200 local time, if you want to join. >>_

 

The email was waiting for him when he got back from his workout and lukewarm shower. He grinned and snapped his laptop shut, grabbing his weapon and slinging it over his shoulder as he nudged Garcia with his foot to get him to take off his headphones. 

 

“Where the fuck is the MWR tent?” 

 

“Uhhhh…” Garcia thought for a minute. “Oh, it’s like…two rows down from the last row of shitters. Why?” 

 

Pete grinned. “I think I’ve got a date.” 

 

“Ah. With your pale nerdy dude?” Running a hand through his dark hair, Garcia grinned. “Well, you have fun with that. I like my babes brown like me.” 

 

He nodded sagely. “Well, if I see any there, I’ll send them your way.”

 

“You’re a true friend, _amigo.”_ With a smirk, Garcia went back to his music and Pete left the tent, brain spinning onto the topic that had occupied his head for the last few weeks. He had spent a lot of time pondering his chances with Patrick while out on ops. People always thought that missions were just go-go-go, but there was a surprising—and _totally ridiculous_ —amount of time spent just waiting. If anyone outside the military asked, he identified as bisexual. He’d been with girls during his teenage years, but then as he grew out of the tumult of youth and questionable decision-making being his status quo, he’d tended to gravitate more towards men. Patrick though…he didn’t give off the vibe that most gay men did. There was almost nothing flamboyant in his personality, but that could have just been an artifact of where they were. For all he knew, Patrick liked to wear skirts and heels when he wasn’t in a combat zone (though he doubted it). 

 

But the way his eyes would flick to Pete when he said “And, good luck” at the end of each of his briefs, or the way their hands always made some sort of contact when he handed over the packets…that wasn’t nothing, was it? Then there was the way Patrick’s cheeks seemed to flush as he gave him that small, shy smile when he walked up. He had asked around a bit—mostly in the gym—to the few Air Force folks stationed at Bastion. They tended to be a bit insular, and usually hung out in a little pack of blue and silver P.T. gear, but they had talked easily once Pete had volunteered to spot one of them on the bench press. They said Patrick kept to himself, like exclusively. He didn't even work out with them, preferring to go on long runs around the perimeter fence at night when he got off shift. They also hadn’t made any jokes about him being gay, but that wasn’t surprising. With _Don’t ask, Don’t tell_ firmly entrenched in the armed forces, its wasn’t a good career move to let people know that you swung for the same team. For that matter, admitting it to Pete could potentially jeopardize Patrick’s career. The thought occurred to him as he walked, and he admitted could see the Air Force being more stick-up-the-ass when it came to that sort of a thing than the Navy. His whole team knew about his tastes, and none of them cared, but that was Special Forces for you. Petty shit like that didn’t matter unless it got in the way of the team, which he would never dream of letting happen. Plus, all the dudes were straight as a rod…unless they were drunk. A smirk creased his face as he remembered what he could of their pre-deployment festivities. Now _that_ had been fun. 

 

Passing the common area where someone had made a cobbled-together corn hole set and some horseshoes, he settled on his plan. If Patrick was straight, that was totally fine—nothing wrong with more friends in his life, especially ones that were pretty to look at! If he wasn’t…well that still left him with the chance that he either had someone back home, or that he wasn’t into adrenaline-crazed, chatterbox Navy SEALs with tattoos and crazy tan lines. Still, chances were what Pete Wentz did for a living. He’d take that bet, but he figured that the best way to assault that topic was to be honest with Patrick about himself, ask questions (something Patrick was more than used to him doing) and see where it went from there. Maybe tonight was the night. 

 

True to his guess, the MWR tent was indeed by the last row of port-a-potties, and Pete slipped inside. Rows of cubicles with phones and a huge canvas sign that had been crudely stenciled with the words _Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR)_ hung in the back. Pete scanned the rows, but didn’t see Patrick’s brown mop. A thought struck him, and he looked at the sign-in sheet…and there he was, right next to what he had checked out. 

 

A guitar? 

 

Moving to the desk, he smiled at the middle-aged man seated next to an ancient-looking computer. “Hey, umm I’m looking for the dude who checked out the guitar?”

 

Not taking his eyes off the screen, the man—Manny, according to his nametag—nodded. “He’s out back. Tell him if he wakes up the firefighters with that thing again, his ass is grass.”

 

Pete nodded at this strange message and headed towards the back of the tent. Pushing aside the flap, he saw Patrick seated at one of the picnic tables that were scattered under the harsh lights of the industrial generators. He wound his way there, and sat down behind the young man. 

 

“So you play guitar?” Patrick jumped and swung around, clutching the instrument to his chest. Pete couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Dude, chill. You know if you need to defend yourself, you should probably use the rifle, not the fucking guitar.”

 

Patrick glared with no real fire, and sat back down. “You startled me.” 

 

“Yeah I could see that.” Sternly Pete tried to tell himself to _quit smiling, dude you’ve gotta look like a fucking idiot. “_ So back to the important things, you play?”

 

Resuming his seat on the bench, Patrick settled the guitar on his leg and began to strum again—the tune wasn’t one Pete knew, but it was damn pretty.

 

“Yeah. Drums are the best, but this is a good second.” Pete took up a seat at the table across from Patrick, watching the way his fingers danced over the strings. It should have been _dainty_ , or _pretty_ or some other adjective, but instead it was just mesmerizing, watching his slender pale fingers pick the strings like they were precious. 

 

“Do you sing?” 

 

Patrick grimaced and fiddled with the tuning pegs. “Umm…in the shower? I don’t really…I usually don’t play in front of anyone, so that definitely means I don’t sing.” 

 

Nodding like he wasn’t a little heartbroken, Pete mentally promised himself he was gonna make this dude sing for him if it was the last thing he did. His voice was already tantalizing—a hint of a deeper burr present when he spoke that made something hum under Pete’s skin. If he sang half as well as he was imagining…well, that would be pretty damn awesome. “Well, what kind of music do you like?” 

 

Patrick’s face lit up at that, like Pete had asked him the million dollar question, and his answer poured out like water from a firehose. “I love Bowie and Prince and Michael Jackson and Tom Waits and Elvis Costello. My dad listened to a lot of folk and soul growing up, and we used to listen to that like all the time. I like a lot of rock too…like MC5 and Saves the Day and—” He seemed to catch himself and looked down at the rocky ground before meeting Pete’s gaze again, a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders accompanying his slightly-nervous chuckle. “I really love music, as you can probably guess.” 

 

“Dude, don’t apologize. I fuckin’ love music too. I mean, if you had said you were into like…tentacle porn or something, then maybe that would be something to be a bit squirrelly about but…” He grinned at the slightly horrified look at Patrick’s face. “But yeah, music is awesome. I play bass a bit back home, nowhere near as good as you play.” 

 

“Really?” Patrick smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure that’s not true.” He lifted his hat and ran his hand through his hair before settling it back down. “As a side note, I have to say I love being here with you Spec Ops folks. Nobody cares about regulations and such as much down here, so I can get away with my hair being longer.” He grinned. “They were Nazi’s about it up at Kabul.” 

 

Pete grinned, running a hand over his scruffy beard. “You mean my murder-stache and blitz-beard aren’t in regs?” He affected an overly-girly shocked face, placing his hand on his chest and fanning his face as he pitched his voice up several octaves. “Oh. My Gosh. How in the world can I kill terrorists without my face being cleanly shaven!?” 

 

Patrick laughed at that, and Pete found himself leaning forward to make sure he didn’t miss any of the delightful sound. It was higher than he would have thought, but the way his face scrunched up and he threw his head back made Pete’s heart clench a bit. Patrick was usually so reserved…seeing him let loose like that was awesome. The thought occurred to him that he wanted to see more of that, and he sternly scolded himself, _One step at a time, Wentz, for fuck’s sake!_

 

After Patrick’s chuckles subsided, he motioned to the guitar. “You should come jam with us sometime. Arroyo has a harmonica and we use some ammo cans for drums and make a bunch of noise to piss off the Brits in the next tent. A guitar would be a good addition to the band.” Patrick shrugged noncommittally but the smile stayed on his face. 

 

“That sounds like fun. But I somehow doubt that I’m the kinda guy SEALs normally hang out with though.” He motioned to his body with a wave. “I mean, I’m not exactly a killing machine of muscle.” 

 

Pete shook his head. “I like you, so they’ll like you. Trust me.” He winked and couldn’t help but notice that blush was back on Patrick’s cheeks. “But let’s get back to the important topic at hand. Best Michael Jackson Album? It’s totally—”

 

“Ohmygosh, _Thriller.”_

 

The title came out of their mouths at the same time, and for a split second there was silence as they just stared at each other. Then their laughter split the night sky, punctuated with _no way_ and _dude, THANK YOU._ Patrick began gesticulating wildly as he extolled the virtues of the Prince of Pop and how _Thriller_ was a milestone in the history of music…

 

Pete looked at Patrick as they talked, argued, agreed, and enthused. He was so _passionate_ , so on fire about the subject, all shyness lost as he rambled and laughed, it was intoxicating. There was nothing more in the world Pete wanted other than to see more of this side of him. The conversation moved to punk rock, and they started to argue about what defined it, what types of instruments belonged on a record…on and on and on.

 

It wasn’t until much later, when he was walking back to his tent, that he realized he had totally forgotten about testing the waters. But then again, what did it really matter when he just had the best night since he had left home?

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and his SEAL team go on a raid...and as is expected, nothing goes smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @shattered_mirrors_and_lace for cheerleading me so much on this, and helping me figure out where I want to go. This chapter is a bit more from Patrick's POV, and I promise the next chapter will have a bit more fireworks!!! <3 Thanks to all for reading!

 

“Good luck.”

 

With the usual two words, Patrick ended the brief and turned away from the tumult of rising SEALs. He clicked off the projector and saw Pete jogging towards him, an expectant look on his face. 

 

“Hey ‘Trick! Packets?” Pete was practically buzzing with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

 

Patrick shook his head ruefully, pushing his glasses back up his nose a bit. “Not today. Too highly classified. That’s why I’ll be up in comms with you guys, so if you need anything I can get you the answer.” 

 

Nodding, a mischievous grin slithered its way across Pete’s face. “So you’ll be in my ear for the whole op? Well, damn if that isn’t the best news I’ve heard all day!”

 

A blush suffused Patrick’s cheeks—was Pete flirting with him? Or was that just his loneliness and his massive crush talking? He pushed it away, trying to remind himself someone who looked like Pete wouldn’t be interested in a nerdy guy who looked like him.

 

 _Say something, Patrick!_ His brain felt like it was rattling around, flailing for something to say that wouldn’t come off as either massively flirtatious [which he totally wanted to be] or massively stupid [totally what was gonna happen]. “Well…I’ll be in your ear as much as you want.” _Smooth, you dumbass!_ His mind screamed at him. _Flirtatious and makes it seem like you want to fuck his ears. Sexy._ “I mean, as far as the mission goes, but comms chatter can be distracting and I wouldn’t ever want to distract—“

 

An idiotically wide grin was working its way across Pete’s face. He reached out to squeeze Patrick’s shoulder in a way that was comforting, despite the contact only lasting about three seconds. “You’re always a distraction, Stumph. In the best way.” The smiled reached his eyes, and Patrick’s brain told him that it was lovely the way Pete’s eyes crinkled when he really smiled, before he realized there were words coming out of Pete’s mouth, too. “—Like a channel where I could just talk to you? Without anyone else hearing? In case I have like…” Pete’s grin turned devilish. “You know, ask you mission critical info or something. As the secondary squad lead, of course.” 

 

Patrick found himself nodding, protocols running through his head about exactly why that was a bad idea, but he couldn’t quite find a reason to care. He bent and scribbled a frequency on a post-it, and handed it to Pete. “Here you go. But…remember, anyone who tunes in will be able to hear you.” 

 

Throwing him a wink, Pete tucked the paper into his blouse in a way that vaguely reminded Patrick of a stripper tucking a dollar bill into their undergarments and walked away. Images of Pete’s caramel skin glistening with nothing but a tight-fitting pair of shorts flitted through his mind… _oh my God, stop it! Seriously!_ He reprimanded himself, hoping his cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. 

 

Sitting back down at his desk, he put on the headset and ran through the mission in his mind. Air insertion a quarter mile from the target, the team would split into two groups and raid the compound from both sides. He had two predators in the air—Col Veyera had told him she thought that was overkill, but had let him task them anyways. He had thought that he would rather redundancy than lose track of Pete for a second on a mission as sensitive as this would be. Intelligence had indicated that the compound might be rigged with explosives, and there were two separate guard towers that were manned 24/7. It wasn’t going to be easy…but that’s what the SEALs did, right? The impossible. Patrick desperately hoped that today would go smoothly. _Please let it go well_ —he prayed silently to whomever would listen— _let him stay safe._

 

Static crackled in his ear as the teams tested their comms, one at a time sounding off. 

 

 _“Alpha lead, how copy?”_ Came the first call, the Squad leader—Chief Petty Officer Mark Edward’s—distinctive accent still coming through over the garbled radio, and Patrick smiled as he answered.

 

_“Loud and clear, Alpha lead. Alpha one, how copy?”_

 

This continued down the line, all six of Alpha team checking in, then it moved to Bravo.

 

 _“Bravo Lead, how copy?”_ Even with the distance separating them, Patrick could hear the smile in Pete’s warm honey tones. 

 

“ _Bravo lead copies loud and clear.”_ The rest of the team checked in, and Patrick uttered the phrase that would send them off. _“Comms are green, mission is a go.”_ He held back for a moment, but then decided to go for it. _“And good luck.”_  

 

A chorus of _thanks, fuck yea! ‘Murica,_ and assorted other motivated noises returned to him, before Alpha Lead’s drawl cut through. _“Stow it, idiots. Thriller, mission is live.”_

 

Patrick grinned at the use of his callsign—mission coordinators were always given one by the team, but he had an idea that Pete had somehow conned his Squad Leader into picking that one. A blinking light on his comms board notified him that another call was coming through on an alternate frequency—Pete’s frequency—and Patrick switched over to hear Pete’s voice coming through a bit muffled but clear. 

 

_“Red five to Yavin, come in.”_

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. _“Why am I not surprised you're Luke Skywalker in this equation?”_

 

He could imagine Pete laughing, that braying laugh that seemed to pull straight from his toes. _“Hey, you can be my Princess Leia anytime.”_ Patrick blushed at that, but his heart seemed to clench a bit and his mind was thrown into a loop of _does-he-like-me-is-he-flirting-or-is-this-just-him-being-pete-does-he-even-like-guys-oh-my-god_ before he shook himself and clicked his headset back to transmit. _“As long as you blow this thing and come home, you can call me whatever you want.”_

 

“ _Deal_.”

 

The raid progressed well…Patrick enjoyed things like this. His team was actually functioning very well today, for once. Two analysts were watching the drone feed for any threats to the team as they approached the compound, another one was listening to the radio signals around the compound for any enemy communications, while the last two were monitoring air assets in the area to make sure if anything went sideways, the team would get help fast. 

 

_“Alpha lead, Bravo team is in position and waiting your mark.”_

 

The feed from the drones was never as clear as Patrick wished, but he could see the teams in position. The plan was to take out the two watchtowers via sniper, and then the teams would breach the compound. 

 

 _“Bravo Lead to Thriller. The eye in the sky have any objections?”_ Patrick looked around at his gathered team. Tactical teams never really bothered to dig into how the intelligence analysts got their data, preferring to remain ignorant and just call it “big brother” or “eye in the sky.” All of his analysts reported no intelligence that would alter the plan, so he took a deep breath and replied.

 

_“Thriller to Bravo Lead, no changes. Mission may commence on your mark.”_

 

 The radio crackled with something before Chief Edwards made the call. _“Alright boys, on my mark: three, two, one…FIRE.”_

 

On the large monitors, Patrick saw the answering burst of sniper fire. Gunfire sputtered from one of the guard towers before another flash silenced it. The teams emerged from cover, moving stealthily towards the entrances. He saw one of Pete’s team—Garcia he guessed—push the door open into the courtyard and the SEALs advanced. They cleared the yard, and then moved to the main building’s entrance, crouched in defensive positions. He heard the call to _Breach!_ over the radio…

 

And half of the compound exploded. 

 

There was a hissing sound over the comms, and chaos erupted across the screen. 

 

_“Alpha Lead to Bravo Lead, report!”_

 

Pete’s voice crackled over the comms, and Patrick’s heart resumed beating. “ _Alpha Lead, we’re okay, entering the east side—crackle—heavy fire, multiple hostiles—“_

 

Patrick breathed out, relief coating his insides. Looking at his analysts, he barked out instructions. “Myers, call the Predator Crew and tell them to switch to Infrared so we can see through the smoke. Hyland, do we have any chatter from in the compound? Owens, tell me the nearest Close Air Support asset and the next closest one. Saiers, get a MedEvac team on standby.” Taking a deep breath, he clicked on his comms link again. _“Thriller to team leaders, advise you hold back until we can figure out—“_

 

 _“Negative!”_ Shouted Alpha Lead. _“Fire’s only going to get worse, we go now.”_

 

“SSgt Stumph, there’s chatter from the compound. Translation coming through…” SrA Hyland looked down at his monitor and pressed his ear deeper into his headset. “They’re calling for help…and someone’s answered, promised to bring…twenty men.” 

 

Eyes widening, Patrick flipped the transmit switch. _“Thriller to Leads, comms indicate they have reinforcements coming, possibly up to twenty armed fighters.”_

 

Cocky despite the static, Pete’s voice rumbled in his ear. _“Sounds like a party, Thriller. Alpha Lead, entering—“_

 

The sound of gunfire stuttered and Pete’s voice cut out in a burst of static and Patrick felt his heart drop. _“Bravo Lead, report!”_ Alpha Lead’s voice cut through the static and the entire ops center seemed to hold its breath waiting for the answer. 

 

All that replied was static.

 

All eyes were glued on the drone feed as it spun lazy circles around the compound, unblinking camera eye staring at the smoke billowing up and the hazy infrared figures moving though the compound. 

 

 _“Alpha Lead, this is Bravo Four_ —static— _target acquired_ —static— _casualty, wounds to stomach and legs_ —static— _Thriller, request MedEvac—_ “

 

Patrick didn’t even hear the request, he was already yelling out instructions. “Saiers, launch the MedEvac team and tell me when they’ll get there, Owens, what assets do we have??” The wide-eyed man started stammering, hands shaking and breathing hard. “Oh for shit’s sake, you pick now to have a panic attack??”  He pulled his headset off and ran over to his station, pushing the young man aside and typing furiously. “Myers! Get Owens out of here, get him some water.” Pulling up the air picture he found the callsign and frequencies of the nearest strike assets, he ran back to his station and pulled his headset back on as he punched in frequencies with his lefthand. _“Hog One, we have Troops in Contact at_ —“ Looking up at the monitor he rattled off the coordinates— _“Drop your current tasking and proceed immediately to support.”_

 

He listened as the pilot gave him an ETA to intercept, and hurriedly switched back to the his team’s frequency. _“Alpha Lead, we have two A-10s enroute, they’re going to fly low as a Show of Force and provide you cover.”_ He looked up at Saiers, who was hunched over her computer and yelling into her headset. “Saiers, where the hell is the MedEvac?” 

 

“They couldn’t get clearance to launch until just now. ETA is ten minutes, they’ll land in that field directly to the east of the compound.” 

 

Patrick growled in frustration. _“Alpha Lead, get out of there. MeEvac will rendezvous with your team in the field to the east of the compound. Choppers will land to evac the rest of the team.”_

 

A chorus of assents sounded over the comms. The drone feed began to show men coming out of the compound, and Patrick’s heart was in his chest when he saw someone being run out in a two-man carry. _Don’t let it be Pete, please, please let him be alright._ He wanted to scream over the comms for Pete to answer him, his heart was clenched hoping to see the little red light blink that would mean Pete was calling him over their private frequency…but there was no red light, and he knew asking for an update would only distract the SEAL team. So he kept his mouth shut and bent to his work. The MedEvac team arrived and he watched them load the injured man on, and the rest of the team climbed onto the helicopters. 

 

He kept his team watching the house, looking for the promised twenty fighters, listening to the chatter in the aftermath, and trying to coordinate a trauma team to meet the landing MedEvac. The medical team, however, didn’t answer their phones or walkie-talkies, so he ended up driving down to their tent and screaming at them until they scrambled a triage team together. He jumped in the ambulance with them, glaring from the corner as it bumped along to the airfield. They tumbled out and he stepped from the vehicle, eyes scanning the sky for the trio of helicopters. Soon enough, they came into view and he yelled at the medics to _get their asses in gear and get ready to receive their goddamned patient!_

 

The helicopters landed like descended birds of prey, and Patrick bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, nerves making him twist his hat in his hands. _Please let him be alright, please let him be alright._

 

The MedEvac landed first, and Patrick’s heart was in his throat. The medics rushed forward, suddenly remembering they had a job to do. They pulled the injured man from the belly of the aircraft and put him onto a stretcher…and then Pete jumped out behind them, carrying a bloodied blouse and two backpacks. Patrick let out a breath that he felt like he’d been holding since the comms cut out, and he realized something terrifying. 

 

He had been afraid. Truly, horribly afraid to lose Pete. 

 

Pete’s eyes landed on Patrick as he ran, holding the hand of the man on the stretcher, and they were hollowed, afraid. They reached the ambulance and the medics pushed him away as they bundled the man up into it and shut the doors, leaving him standing there clutching the bloodied blouse, head dropping to his chest. Patrick walked up to him, and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

 

Pete whirled around, eyes wide. “Then whose fault was it? The terrorists? My team? I was _Lead_. Garcia’s hurt because I _fucked up!”_

 

Shaking his head, Patrick put both his hands on Pete’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Pete, I was watching, the whole time. It wasn’t you. You went in the right way, you had all the best intelligence…these things just _happen_. It’s war. It’s shitty and its awful…but it’s what you signed up to do, and you kept the rest of your team safe and completed the objective. That’s what matters.” 

 

There was a brittleness in Pete’s eyes, like he was teetering on the edge of holding it together and shattering into a thousand pieces. “You mean that? You’d tell me if I messed up?” 

 

Patrick nodded. “I promise.” Pete’s eyes seemed to look through him, like he was sizing him up just by what he saw on his face, and he hoped it wasn’t lacking. A smile blossomed, small and tentative across Pete’s face. It wasn’t like any other smile Patrick had seen him give—it was vulnerable, it was tinged with pain but also something that Patrick couldn’t identify. But he couldn’t help but ask the nagging question. “You’re alright? I was afraid when—”

 

“Oh yeah…I’m sorry. I lost my earpiece in the blast…but I’m good.” The smile was back…and it made Patrick’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realized that he _cared_ about Pete. A lot.  But it made him want to pull Pete close, to wrap him in a hug and whisper reassurance against his neck, to kiss away the fear on his face. He smiled back and his hands tightened almost on their own, ready to pull Pete in…

 

“Dude! Where’s Garcia? Did they get him out okay?” The rest of the SEALs surrounded Pete, asking questions, pulling the extra backpack from his shoulders and slapping him on the back of the head affectionately. “Bro, you did great, that head shot was—“ 

 

They moved away in a huddle of camouflage and flailing hands. Chief Edwards pressed a bag into Patrick’s hands. “Here yeh go, Stumph. One terrorist-lovin’ hard drive, as requested.” Then he moved away and followed his team, leaving Patrick standing there holding the bag and staring after the huddle. 

 

Pete turned back, eyes meeting Patrick’s for a moment. He mouthed _thank you_ before his team pushed him into the humvee waiting to take them back to main base, and he was gone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TADA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It finally comes together =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIGANTIC thanks to @shattered_mirrors_and_lace for epic cheerleading and incredible suggestions. This chapter would be a sad mess without her!

As a rule, Pete avoided feeling bad about things. He preferred to grab life by the horns and just _go for it._ That way, he could feel chagrined if something went poorly, or angry if it blew up in his face, but feeling bad in that way that was tinged with regret? It wasn’t something he particularly liked. 

 

But now he was stuck feeling bad about _two_ things, and both of them involved a certain blue-eyed, pale-skinned Staff Sergeant. Patrick had been about to say or do something that day on the tarmac, when he had so earnestly assured Pete that it hadn’t been his fault. But his team had fallen on him, and they’d all rushed off to see Garcia after that. Patrick had looked so…alone, standing there clutching the bag with the hard drive they’d worked so hard to get. Lonely. 

 

The second time he had felt bad was the day after that. They had all been in the “waiting room” of the medical tent…less a room than a fenced-in patch of dirt outside the tent, but hey, semantics. They had been standing talking, laughing…trying to do anything to diffuse the tension they all felt as they waited to be able to see Garcia. Patrick had walked in and their eyes met for just a moment, Pete’s heart leaping to see him…but just then, the doctor had come out and said Garcia was awake and they had all tumbled into the tent. Pete had thrown a smile Patrick’s way…but he wasn’t sure he had seen it. 

 

He’d gone by the command tent twice in the last week…but both times, Patrick hadn’t been there. His team said he was off shift for the night the first time, and the second time he had gone to eat. Pete had cussed a blue streak in his head and stamped out of the tent in a huff. He’d gone to see Garcia, who was recouping in the Medical tent until he had healed enough to rejoin the team. His injuries, it turned out, hadn’t been as bad as they looked. Shrapnel had hit his stomach and legs, but had miraculously missed anything vital. Once the docs had dug out the metal and stitched him up, they’d pronounced he could leave the medical tent in a week—give or take. Pete had stomped in, thrown himself into the metal chair next to Garcia’s bed and started unloading about why the fuck couldn’t he find Patrick, why he couldn’t find his fucking balls just for five seconds to tell him how he fucking felt, why couldn’t Garcia have been injured at a more opportune time, and why the universe was conspiring against him?!  

 

His best friend had listened in silence, before giving him the sage advice of _how about you chill the fuck out, dumbass._ Pete had groused some more and then started to elucidate how cool Patrick was, how they liked some of the same music, how nice his lips looked…at which point Garcia had thrown his puke-bowl [empty thank God!] at him and said he didn’t want to hear about lips unless they were going to put out, and he wasn’t into white boys thank you very much.

 

Laughing, Pete’s spirits had lifted, and they had talked about other things—safe things. How hot it was, the attractive nurse that changed his bandages, and the 8th wonder of the world that was the chow hall and how they could manage to fuck up spaghetti, which seemed like the most un-fuckable food you could make. Eventually the hot nurse came over (at which Pete made a number of suggestive motions and faces behind her back, causing Garcia to laugh so hard there was yelling about _your_ _stitches are going to rip!)_ and promptly kicked Pete out. 

 

Shambling back from the Medical tent, Pete decided he may as well turn his frustration into muscles and started making his way back to their tent to change. So what if he took a slight detour that took him past the MWR tent? It was worth a shot, right? Somewhere, somebody was looking out for him, because Pete found himself pausing in mid-step when the well-known tune reached his ear. With a face-splitting grin, feeling like a ecstatic five year old jumping up at down, he heard the familiar strains of soulfully-played guitar…and…was that _singing?_

 

Patrick had said he didn’t sing…or rather, that he wouldn’t sing in front of others..but it definitely sounded like his voice. Only it was pitched lower in a strange way, like it wasn’t truly _lower_ but just somehow _richer._ It sent shivers down Pete’s spine and made his stomach do that weird fluttering thing. His brain screamed at him that he should just stay where he was, because if it _was_ Patrick, he’d surely stop singing as soon as he saw Pete. But he couldn’t help himself, he _had to know…_ so he stepped out from behind one of the generators, the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel loud against its low hum…

 

Patrick’s head jerked up and the singing stopped, his mouth open mid-word. A thousand obscene things flickered through Pete’s mind in an instant, all revolving around Patrick’s mouth, but they were gone like a sudden summer rain. He wanted to cry, to beg Patrick to _please keep singing._ But then something strange flitted across his face—something devastatingly open and terrified but also strangely resigned—and he started to sing again. 

 

_You cry out in your sleep_

_All my failings exposed_

_And there's a taste in my mouth_

_As desperation takes hold_

_Just that something so good just can't function no more_

 

_But love, love will tear us apart again_

_Love, love will tear us apart again_

_Love, love will tear us apart again_

_Love, love will tear us apart again_

 

Silence echoed like a thunderclap in Pete’s ears, the absence of that voice making him feel like a part of him was missing that he didn’t even know was gone. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear himself from that blue gaze that seemed to swallow him up with restrained power and soft affection. Something seemed to arc between them—nothing so cliche as a lightning bolt or cupid’s arrow—but Pete realized how much he wanted to keep looking at Patrick. He wanted nothing else in the world.

 

But then it was gone and Patrick looked away, fingers shuffling nervously with the tuning pegs. Pete walked forward, sitting down on the picnic table across from him, wondering what the fuck he should say, what _could_ he say…and then Patrick looked up. There was a shy smile on his lips, and a wondering, tentative, expectant look on his face. 

 

“That was amazing.” Pete wanted to pump the air with his fist upon discovering his voice still worked. “Like, seriously beautiful.” The smile on Patrick’s face grew, just a little bit, edging towards his eyes but still filled with caution. “But…I thought you said you didn’t sing. In front of people, I mean.” 

 

The shrug seemed to roll through Patrick’s body like a wave. “You’re not ‘people.’ Not to me.” 

 

“So…if I’m not people…what am I? Cause I’m pretty sure I’m human, I mean last time I checked.” _Smooth, Pete, real fucking smooth._

 

There was a blush working its way across Patrick’s face that reminded Pete of the way the sun burst over the horizon in the mornings. He could see his throat working as he swallowed, and took a deep breath. “You’re different. And…I really care about you.”

 

Pete was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open so far that you could have landed a fully-armed Bomber in it…maybe two. _Not-just-people-oh-my-god-he-actually-like-seriously-did-he-basically-just-say-he-liked-me-oh-my-god_ ran through his head like a broken record and he tried to remember how to do that thing he just did a minute ago, you know, _make sounds come out of his mouth that roughly approximated words?_

 

While his brain tried desperately to figure out how to resume sending normal neurological signals to his body, Patrick seemed to deflate a bit, looking down and scuffing at the dusty ground with his boot. “I don’t expect you to feel the same, I mean, look at you and look at me…you’re like gorgeous and I’m pretty much the definition of geeky. But after the raid the other day…I was so afraid something had happened to you.” He looked back up to meet Pete’s dumbstruck gaze. “That’s why I’ve been kind of hiding from you lately. I was afraid to say anything, but I couldn’t live with myself seeing you and _not_ saying something. Not telling you that…” He waved his hand like he c ould pluck the words from the air, but when he finally spoke, the words were so low that Pete had to strain forward to hear them. “That my heart seriously stopped when your comms went down. And I’ve never been so thankful for anything in my life than when you came out of that chopper.” 

 

He stood and reached for his rifle, head down and not meeting Pete’s eyes. Something about seeing this beautiful boy who held such morals reach for a rifle he would never shoot made Pete’s mind kick back into gear, synapses connecting and the flood of things his brain had been screaming into the silence suddenly knocking into him like a wall. 

 

“Patrick, wait!” Blue eyes came up to meet his, full of fear and caution, and just the tiniest bit of hope. Pete stood jerkily, like his legs just remembered how to walk, and he rushed across the five feet separating them—suddenly it felt like a fucking football field—and pulled Patrick into a hug. 

 

It was awkward—the guitar was still strung around Patrick’s back and the neck was digging into Pete’s forehead, his rifle hung between their bodies on its harness, and Pete’s tactical vest made it impossible to feel any part of the torso pressed against his own. But none of that mattered in that moment, nothing but the feeling of his arms wrapped around Patrick, his face buried in the dusty fabric of his uniform, the smell of his skin drifting across his senses like smoke—sweet, clean…indescribable but also infinitely _his_. 

 

Then Patrick was hugging him back, burrowing his face into Pete’s neck, his hat falling from his head and tumbling unheeded to the ground. Pete felt him take a shuddering breath, felt it vibrate through him and it made him pull him just a tiny bit closer. 

 

After what felt like both an eternity and an instant, Patrick pulled away, stepping back and biting his lip, eyes flickering up to Pete’s. “Umm…” He bent and retrieved his hat from the ground, a tentative smile pulling his bottom lip from between his teeth. “So…does this mean that I didn’t just make a giant idiot of myself?” 

 

Pete couldn’t help the laugh that cracked out of him then, a chuckle that was equal parts mind-numbing joy and satisfaction. “Not even a little.” He pulled Patrick back down to sit on the bench with him, instinctively reaching for his hand before he realized what he was doing, before his mind reminded him of the people who were walking by. Amusement made the corner of Patrick’s mouth quirk up, like he knew what Pete wanted and also why he couldn’t do it. It _was_ a war zone, after all…personal displays of affection were definitely a no-go here. Especially between two people of the same gender. 

 

So Pete did the only thing he could do, the only thing he was even remotely good at, or at least was used to doing in a situation like this. _Talk_.

 

“Dude, you have no idea how long I’ve been crushing on you. Like, literally since the first time you briefed us, it was like a lightning bolt hit me in the forehead, I kid you not, I mean you’re fucking gorgeous and you have like amazing taste in music, and hanging out with you is seriously the best thing in the world and I wasn’t even sure if you were into guys, but I was trying to figure out the right way to bring it up without, like, it being weird and oh my gosh if we were _anywhere_ else right now, I’d seriously lay you on your back and kiss you till you passed out.”

 

Patrick laughed at that, a devilish grin that looked so out of place but also so damn _good_ on his face that made Pete’s heart do that fluttering thing again. “Who says I’d be the one on my back?” He laughed gently at the way Pete’s jaw dropped, and wiped a hand over his face and settled his hat back on his head. “So you _were_ flirting with me this whole time?” 

 

Pete nodded. “Umm totally. Like, I was wondering if you were just being polite and weren’t into guys, or if you were really that oblivious.” 

 

Shaking his head, Patrick gave him a rueful look. “Well, I probably _am_ that oblivious…but yeah, I came out when I was 13. To my family at least. I’ve never really fit well into the “gay” scene—too much of an introvert, I guess. But nobody really asks when you’re hanging out with band kids and so…it’s not that I try to hide it, I’m just not really a very outgoing person to begin with.” He rolled his eyes. “Then there’s the whole _don’t ask, don’t tell_ thing and I’m not exactly the most attractive or confident person out there, so…” 

 

 _I am seriously the luckiest damn guy in the whole fucking world._ Pete’s brain was screaming at him that he had better _seal the fucking deal, Wentz!_ _Big romantic gesture, go!_   “Okay, first of all, you’re seriously gorgeous.” Patrick blushed at that and tried to look down, but Pete tucked a hand under his chin and pulled his face back up. “No, no, look at me idiot. Seriously. You are like…fucking stunning. Your eyes are incredible, and your smile is literally the best thing that happens to me every day, and I know uniforms aren’t the most flattering things but I’m fairly certain you have the best ass in this whole fucking country, and if I told you the horrifying things I’ve thought about your lips, you’d probably run away from me screaming.” Patrick was _definitely_ blushing now. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Pete nodded vigorously. “ _Fuck_ , yeah.” 

 

It was silent for a long moment, as Patrick looked down at their hands resting on each of their respective laps. His pale and long-fingered, Pete’s rugged and tanned. “You know how crazy this is, right? I mean, we’re in _Afghanistan_ fighting a _war._ Not exactly a normal place to find… _”_ He waved his hand between them, unsure what to even call it. 

 

With an ironic grin, Pete reached up and tapped the brim of his hat down playfully. “Well, hey. It’s definitely not the craziest thing I’ve ever had happen to me.” He looked deep into Patrick’s eyes, noticing for the first time they were blue on the edges, but the pupils were ringed with a lovely collage of browns and greens and hazel. It made him wonder distantly if they were green in different light. If his pupils blew in the heat of passion, which color would be left…the blue or the hazel…Sternly, he pulled himself back from that mental cliff and sternly shouted at his brain to _stop thinking about sex for five goddamned seconds!_ and smiled at Patrick in a way he hoped was encouraging. “How much longer are you here?”

 

“Two more months.”

 

“Well that’s almost perfect, I’ve got three more months. So…they can’t stop two super cool dudes from hanging out, right?” He smiled at the way Patrick’s throat worked as he swallowed. “You like _have_ to come jam with my guys. Oh! Dude, we’re having like a welcome-home, way-to-not-die party for Garcia on Wednesday. That’s when he’s supposed to be released from the Med Tent. You need to come, half the guy like want to thank you anyways.” 

 

“Thank me? For what?” Patrick looked genuinely confused and he pushed his glasses back up on his nose a bit. 

 

“Umm, oh I don’t know, like coordinating the fastest MedEvac we’ve ever seen and keeping the rest of us from dying on that raid? You seriously kicked some serious ass dude!” 

 

Patrick blushed in an adorably deprecating, awh-shucks kind of way that made Pete once again want to grab him and do indecent things under the picnic table. “But, wouldn’t it be…I mean, you and I…” He trailed off and Pete laughed.

 

“Oh dude, they know all about how bad I’ve got it for you. We have like, no secrets.” A scarlet flush worked its way across Patrick’s whole face now as he looked slightly aghast. “I mean, why the fuck do you think they always clear out of the tent and let me come get the packets from you? Or why they let me pick your call sign?”

 

His voice was muffled, probably from his head being currently buried in his hands. “Oh my god…you’re…” He looked up at Pete from between his fingers. “You’re kidding, right?” 

 

“Nope!” Pete crowed triumphantly. “But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with them, and they’re just gonna be thrilled I’m not going to mope like a lovesick cow anymore.” 

 

“A lovesick cow?” 

 

“Yeah well…we’re SEALs. We come up with funky names for shit. You just kinda get used to it after a while. But apparently I reminded them of a cow when I’d be waxing on and on about how cute you were, how nice you look in your uniform—“

 

“Oh my God, okay…I get it.” Patrick’s face looked like it had been sunburned, but the smile he gave Pete was brighter than all the lights on the airfield put together as he huffed out a resigned sigh. “I guess if they already know, and don’t care…I’ll come.” 

 

Pete couldn’t hold it in anymore—he jumped up and danced in a circle like a five year old, and pumped the air with his fist like he had just thrown a touchdown. 

 

“It’s a fucking date, Pattycakes!” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Patrick is singing is (couldn't help it, had to do it!!) "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division =)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closest approximation Pete and Patrick will get to a date...in the form of a Bastion Barbecue and a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is totally unbeta'd, and it's entirely too late for me to be writing (so why am I posting!? Why!??! Oh right...I'm crazy!) All mistakes are mine...but I hope you enjoy =) A huge thanks to all who have left comments and kudos...you guys keep me writing!! <3

_Raucous_ would be a good word for the organized chaos taking place between the four tents that the SEALs called home. The Afghan sun was beating down, but a rare day with clouds in the sky made the heat much less oppressive than normal. Someone had swiped a grill from the chow hall and convinced one of their transport pilots to bring them back steaks and a couple bags of potatoes on their most recent supply run. To celebrate Garcia’s return, they were feasting like kings…or at least, what passed for feasting, in Afghanistan. 

 

Pete surveyed the scene—almost everyone was shirtless, including Hilelston, who had made a makeshift apron and had written in sharpie “Kiss the Cook Bitches” on the top. He was standing over the grill cooking the steaks, declaring he was the only person worthy to touch the meat. After all, he was a damn good cook back home, as evidenced by the fact he had brought a small spice collection _to_ _fucking fight a war (_ which they were all very thankful for right now).  Long was turning the foil-wrapped potatoes over the fire, and somebody was blaring _The Beach Boys_ from a banged-up pair of speakers. Garcia was sitting on his throne—cunningly created by wrapping tin-foil and duct tape around the wheelchair someone had stolen from the medics—grinning like it was the best party in the world. All that was missing was…

 

“Pete!” Garcia nodded his head at something, and he turned around to see Patrick walking up, rifle slung over one shoulder, and the guitar over the other. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest as he bounded over.

 

“You made it!” 

 

Patrick grinned at him wryly. “Considering the racket you guys are making, it wasn’t hard to find you.” 

 

“Fair. But hey, it’s a Bastion Barbecue. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Pete swept his arm aside in a grand gesture like he was welcoming Patrick into a palace. Patrick gave him a small smile that made his heart skip a beat, and moved over towards the Guest of Honor. 

 

“Hey, white boy!” Garcia’s grin was smug. “Glad you came.” He stuck his hand out and Patrick shook it. Pete noticed that it was a good handshake—firm, not limp or hesitant, and knew that would seal the deal on his best friend’s opinion of Patrick. Garcia had a thing about handshakes. “Thanks for getting my ass out of hot water so fast, bro. You’re something else.”

 

Patrick shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I’m just really glad you’re out of the Med Tent, man.” The words were earnest as he set down the guitar and swung down a small ruck from his back. “I brought you a keep-getting-better gift.” 

 

“Awh you didn’t have to do that— _HOLY SHIT, GUYS HE HAS OREOS!!!_ ”

 

It was like a pack of vultures descended on Pete’s erstwhile guest, if vultures came in the form of muscled, tanned Navy SEALs who had a voracious love for sweets. 

 

Pete reflected he maybe should have warned Patrick about how… _touchy-feely_ his SEAL team was. It was something that came of being each other’s family, of knowing that the man to the right or left of you in a firefight would never leave you and eagerly give his life to save yours. It also came from living in _extremely_ close quarters, training together in various states of undress, and copious amounts of alcohol that had been shared between them while stateside. It could be overwhelming to outsiders…and Patrick definitely wasn’t a SEAL.

 

But he didn’t seem to mind, smiling brightly at them and laughing they clapped him on the back and made various declarations, ranging from _You’re my new favorite person_ to _dude, you’re a fucking mind reader, I was craving these like a fat kid craves cake_ to Long’s heartfelt _I think I’m gonna steal you from Pete dude, I’m fucking in love with you._ The last one had Patrick blushing a bit, but he was still smiling and holding the open container for them to grab cookies. 

 

Long looped his arms around Patrick and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, grinning at Pete. “Seriously bro, I think I’m gonna take him.” 

 

Patrick only laughed, gently unwinding the arms around him so he could reach into his ruck one last time. “If you love me now, you’re gonna want to marry me when you see what else I have…” He pulled out two bottles of Buffalo Wild Wing sauce, and Long fell to his knees dramatically, grabbing the sauce from Patrick and clutching them to his chest like a baby. 

 

“ _Oh my GOD_ , Patrick, if my wife wasn’t the hottest thing in the world and she didn’t fuck me like a goddess I would totally take this ring off and put it on those pretty pale fingers of yours right now!” 

 

Patrick definitely blushed at that, but he shot Pete a bemused grin as Long jumped to his feet and pumped the air with a bottle in each hand. The guys cheered as he took them over to Hilelston, who had resumed grilling the steaks. On seeing the sauce, he began to grouse a bit about _overwhelming my delicate and sophisticated seasoning mix with that stone-age shit_ but he threw Patrick a wink so they knew he didn’t mean it. 

 

Stunting back over and grinning like an idiot, Long batted his eyelashes at Patrick. “Dude. You’re welcome here anytime. And if my wife loses her mind and leaves me, I’m totally stealing you away.” 

 

Patrick laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. It might work…” His eyes slid sideways to Pete for a moment. “I mean, I don’t know if I could fuck you like a _goddess_ , but…” 

 

Long barked out a laugh and elbowed Pete knowingly. Garcia—bless him!—yelled at Long to fetch him another bottle of water, and they were left in relative peace. It wasn’t lost on Pete, what that sideways look meant…and _God_ if that wasn’t _hot!_ He’d never wanted to put someone horizontal so badly, and cursed his luck that they were literally in the middle of a hostile country and not somewhere with a big bed and jazz music playing in the background. _At least you met him…you’ll have time for that later if you don’t fuck it up dumbass._ Patrick had that small smile on his face, and Pete couldn’t help the way his breath hitched when he bit his full lower lip, and desperately tried to get his mouth working again. 

 

“So…you figured you’d bribe your way into my team’s heart?”  _Smooth, you stupid idiot._

 

Patrick only shrugged, small smile still flirting around his mouth. “I figured I'd share it with you guys. My mom worries about me, so she sends me tons of junk.” 

 

“Lucky for us.” Pete nudged his shoulder playfully. “Well, I think you’re officially adopted, if keeping our asses safe wasn’t enough.”

 

Patrick started to say something, but then Hilelston was yelling at them to _come and get it, bitches!_ and they were off and crowding around, getting plates and food. Patrick was getting constantly backslapped and high-five’d as the guys thanked him for the sauce, and he was taking it with what Pete realized was his typical “awh, shucks” grace. 

 

Soon enough they were sitting around the fire pit and stuffing their faces. Long had placed himself on Patrick’s other side and soon they were deep in conversation about which clam chowder was superior—white or red, and then about the best places to get it. Pete smiled as Patrick went over and talked to Garcia when Pete got pulled into an arm-wrestling contest with Reyes. The frequency with which he heard his best friend’s characteristic booming laugh told him that they were having a good time. Eventually, they pulled out their “instruments” and began to play. Patrick was surprisingly easy to convince to play whatever they wanted—it turned out he knew a prolific number of songs. They rolled through some classics, some funny, some bawdy (which made Patrick blush but he strummed along gamely), and had a generally delightful time. Pete couldn't help but feel a thrill at how easily and gently Patrick had assimilated into the group, and he smiled seeing his small, pale, bespectacled crush mingling and laughing with his beefy, brawny crazy team.  _This guy is a serious keeper._

 

They all started singing a rollicking Navy yarn eventually, loudly and poorly. Someone had produced a bottle of something dubiously alcoholic (Reyes had asserted it wasn’t Afghani Piss water, or just rotted potatoes…though nobody believed him, or really cared). Pete didn’t drink any, not wanting to miss anything about the evening, and went to sit by Patrick after the song was over. The younger man—they had established that Patrick was a good five years younger a while ago—smiled at him as he plunked his butt down on the makeshift bench. 

 

“Having fun?” 

 

His answering smile was luminous in the firelight. “The best.” He looked down at the guitar, picking absently at the strings as he spoke with just a bit of hesitation. “I, um…I really like your friends.” 

 

Nudging his shoulder playfully, Pete grinned. “They like you too, Pattycakes.” This got him an answering eye roll, but a smile was still on those gorgeous lips…and he loved that. He looked down, eyes drifting to Patrick (of course…they always drifted to him). To the beautiful color of his skin, painted in rouged hues from the flickering light, unexpectedly long lashes fringing beautiful eyes, the creamy length of his throat, shoulders that were relaxed for once, the gentle bow of his belly hinting at a delightful hint of softness that Pete wanted to sink his teeth into. The rough weave of his multicam, the curve of his hips, the way he looked at _peace_. He looked _happy._

 

Looking around hurriedly, Pete decided to go for it. If anyone asked…hey, they were SEALs. Breaking stupid rules was what they did, after all. So he gently eased the guitar away from Patrick’s body, just enough that he could settle his hand on the other’s lap. Pete felt him tense, just for a moment as he looked around, knowing that they were breaking the iron-clad rule of General Order One. But then he relaxed, and a different look flitted across his face. It was a bit like that devilish one he had flashed when he insinuated he wouldn’t be the one on his back, but it was also full of something beautiful Pete couldn’t quite describe. Slowly, Patrick moved his hand from where it was resting on the neck of the guitar down, down, down…until it was resting on top of Pete’s.  

 

It was stupid, it was schoolgirlish…but Pete would have sworn he felt a frisson of electricity when their hands touched. He couldn’t help it, his head snapped over and saw the playful smirk on Patrick’s face as he watched with false interest the drunken dance the SEALs were doing around the campfire like savages. Pete returned his attention reluctantly to his brothers-in-arms as they caroused and sang and danced, enjoying a well-earned night of happiness. Carefully, he turned his hand over, fingers grazing the soft skin of Patrick’s palm, feeling the callouses on his fingertips. Patrick gently laced their fingers together, and it felt so _right._

 

Pete’s voice was low, and soft when he finally spoke. “But I think I like you the most.” 

 

The silent, answering pressure as Patrick squeezed his hand said it all. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Afghanistan Date (Aka--let's get to know each other a bit more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to @shattered-mirrors-and-lace for all her help with this story. It was giving me a REALLY hard time (mostly because I wrote some stuff out of order and had to figure out how to string it together into a coherent story!) and she just helped me make it SO much better than my fumbling attempts alone would have done! Thanks to all my readers...hope you're still enjoying it! And as lovely @Shattered will tell you...the smut IS COMING! It's even written because she's read some of it! So don't you worry! <3

It wasn’t necessarily a  _normal_  date by any standards. Not that any of their ‘dates’ had been, honestly, but when you were stuck in the desert, in the middle of a war, this qualified as their normal. 

 

Several days prior, Pete had asked Patrick when his next day off was as he picked up  the packets. When Patrick had informed him it was Tuesday, Pete had grinned and stated casually it they were going on a date before heading out on the mission. Pete practically  _sauntered_  out of the tent whistling, and Patrick had shaken his head bemused but hadn’t argued. And now there they were, once again out back of the MWR tent, this time with a game of checkers on the picnic table between them. Pete had  _borrowed_ —which meant he had temporarily stolen—a van and driven across the base to the makeshift coffee shop and gotten them some sort of blended drink that was at one time cold but now was just a melted delicious mess. Not that either of them cared, Patrick had nearly jumped up and down in excitement and had given Pete a shy smile as he sipped the melted concoction. 

 

Pete had declared when they sat down, that they were going to play two games—checkers and Getting To Know Each Other, and decreed he would go first.  Neither were really paying that much attention to the game—they were definitely more focused on each other than the red-and-black pieces. Still, Patrick had managed to beat him three times to his one win, which Pete was trying (and failing) to take gracefully.

 

“So …you have siblings?” Pete asked, jumping one of Patrick’s pieces and crowing proudly. 

 

“Yeah, an older brother and a sister. I’m the baby,” Patrick answered nonchalantly, his chin resting in his palm as he analyzed the placement of the pieces.

 

“What do they do?” Pete studied him as he looked at the board—he hadn’t guessed Patrick to be the baby of his family. 

 

“Uhhh…my sister is an accountant and my brother does something with stocks and financial management. And he’s realtor on the side.” Pete hummed, nodding.

 

“And none of them wanted to join?” 

 

Patrick shook his head. “My mom would have thrown a fit if my sister had tried. She’s actually super tomboyish—believe it or not, she can outshoot my brother and I with one eye closed. My brother has a congenital heart condition. Nothing serious, but it meant he couldn’t enlist. He never really talked about it, but I think it broke his heart a bit…he wanted to be a Ranger so bad.”

 

“So the mantle fell on you, huh?” 

 

The younger man shrugged eloquently, moving one red piece a space up and to the left. “What about you?” 

 

Pete stretched his arms behind his back, making a face. “Oh I was a total loser in high school. Always getting into trouble and stuff, classic case of being a high school delinquent. Then one of the recruiters came and talked to us and he told us about the SEALs being the very best and shit and he kinda, well…he basically said none of us were tough enough to make it.” He laughed a loud, braying laugh. “Which, if you haven’t noticed, is basically the _right_ thing to say to somebody like me. So here I am.”

 

A smirk quirked the corner of Patrick’s mouth at that and he nodded in agreement, moving a piece backwards. “What was your last relationship?” 

 

Pete raised a playful eyebrow at the question. “You really want to know that?” 

 

Nodding, Patrick smiled. “Unless you tell me you cheated on them, I’m not really the unreasonably jealous type.” 

 

“Oh no, nothing like that.” He gave a rueful grin. “It’s more like I got cheated on…apparently significant others don’t like it when you’re gone all the time on training or deployments. Last person I was with was this girl I met at a bar. We were just casual and it was great but then she wanted to ,like…get married and have kids and wanted me to get out and move back to her dad’s farm in Iowa. I said no and came home from a training mission to find her in bed with someone else. In my bed.” Sliding a piece over he put his chin in his hands and gave the other a look and a shrug. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Patrick didn’t patronize or make him feel pitied, and Pete liked that, but then blue eyes flicked up to his. “So…girls?” 

 

Pete looked up sharply. “Oh…yeah, um, I’m kinda bi? Is that a problem?” 

 

“No, not at all.” Patrick’s tone was light, reassuring. “Wish I could cast my net a little wider.”

 

“Ah, so never even tried with a girl?” Pete jumped over one of Patrick’s pieces and took it off the board.

 

“Well…not unless you count my junior high dance when Courtney Struthers kissed me and then slapped me because I didn’t kiss back…”

 

“Ouch.” 

 

“Yeah.” Patrick smiled nostalgically, with nothing but wry humor. “Not really my thing.” 

 

Pete winked. “Lucky for me.” Patrick blushed a light pink and took another sip of his coffee as Pete asked his next question. “What about you? You don’t have a line of tall, muscled men back home waiting for you?” 

 

He laughed at that, moving his piece to the back of the board, topping it with a second piece. “No, definitely not. I dated a guy…two years ago? It only lasted six months, and he decided we just weren’t cut out to be together, and I was relieved.” He flashed Pete a smile. “I’m not very good at breaking up with people.”

 

“Also lucky for me and our future together.” Patrick’s eyes widened a bit at that, but he didn’t say anything, merely moving his newly-minted King checker forward to take one of Pete’s. 

 

“And what do you think that future is for us?” 

 

Pete wanted to slap himself in the face for opening that one up so nicely. “You first.” 

 

“It was my turn to ask a question!” Patrick acted put off, but there was laughter in his gaze. 

 

Shaking his head, Pete pointed to the stack of his pieces that were on the table. “Nope. When you beat me this many times, I get a freebie, that’s the rule. So I’m using my freebie now.” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath about  _adding rules_  and  _cheating_  and  _special forces guys just think they're so specia_ l as he stared contemplatively at the board. Pete knew that he wasn’t trying to figure out  _how_ he was going to beat his ass for the fourth time, and he started to regret letting Patrick answer first. But then blue eyes met his and he saw uncertainty in their depths, but also a tentative hope that stole his breath away. 

 

“I think that this was literally the craziest place for us to meet. I think  _officially_  we could never be anything but roommates. I think that logistically anything we tried would be a nightmare, even when we’re both back stateside. I think that Virginia to San Diego is a long flight. I think that the odds are stacked against us in almost every possible way.” He said each one so matter-of-factly that Pete could feel his heart sink just a bit which each statement, and he could feel himself start to scramble for arguments, for reasons all those things were totally workable…but then he realized Patrick had said something and he had totally missed it. 

 

“Um… can you repeat that last bit? I kinda…zoned out.”

 

“I could tell.” Patrick shook his head, a small smile on his face that made Pete’s heart lift up from his toes just a bit. “I said that even with all those things, I’d still really like to…try.” The last word he added softly, hope lacing he single syllable like whiskey in a mug of hot apple cider.  

 

Pete couldn’t help the grin that split his face, just like he couldn’t help reaching out to tap Patrick on the nose and make him scowl irritably. But there was no real heat, no real anger there—only grudging annoyance that was just adorable mixed with that tentative hope. It made Pete’s heart soar as he looked into those beautiful eyes and he wanted to dance with joy that Patrick wanted this too. This crazy, awesome, amazingly nutty thing that made his heart beat out of his chest.

 

“I’m game if you are, briefer boy.” 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick say goodbye...for now! Plus a tiny bit of rule-breaking =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to @shattered_lace_and_mirrors for her help on this chapter. She is literally the reason I'm still writing...so thank you lady!! <3 Also thank you to all those who are still with me!!!

Throwing his bag into the back of the large pickup that was being rapidly filled with all the rest of the group’s baggage, Patrick sighed. This was it—his last day of his tour. 

 

The last two weeks had been truly insane—on top of briefing and managing the SEAL team’s ops like he had been doing all along, Patrick had to be writing down processes and checklists, getting everything prepared for his replacement to take over. The changes he had imposed on his arrival—after the initial and totally normal complaining and pushback—had been accepted by his team. Now they ran like clockwork, a well-oiled machine that backed each other up and got the job done not just efficiently but also  _well_. 

 

Colonel Veyera had sternly lectured him when he had told her of his departure.   _“You are the finest Airman I’ve ever had work for me—and I’ve had plenty of idiots, trust me—but you worked harder than any one of those knuckleheads. So I expect you to train your replacement so well that I don’t have to add him to the list of imbeciles and recall your ass, because believe me Stumph I will do it, I have a war to run, I don’t have time to be babysistting.”._ Patrick had decided to take it as the backwards-compliment it was. He had smiled and shook her hand and said it had been a pleasure, and he wouldn’t let her down. So that meant his last two weeks were a flurry of briefings and mission prep, all while teaching his replacement—a skinny guy named Ngyen, who seemed motivated enough but tended to get distracted easily and asked far to many questions— _‘How do you do this?’ ‘Why do you do that?’ “Wait who do I report this too?’ “What does that mean’_ and honestly, Patrick was beginning to dread leaving his post in Ngyen’s rookie hands.  Properly training him meant 18-hour days for Patrick, and very little time for him to see Pete outside of briefings. 

 

The SEALs mission tempo had also increased—of course—which meant they were almost always prepping for a mission, going on a mission, or debriefing and cleaning up from the mission. Pete would always come get the folders, as usual, but Patrick was usually so busy explaining everything to to his replacement that he only had time for a quick smile. Once, Pete had  carefully slid over a small folded piece of paper as he picked up the folders for their next ops in front of Ngyen, and given him a wink when a spark of realization flashed in Patrick’s eyes, knowing the younger man had caught wind of the intention. Patrick had slid it into his pocket before yanking the pistol from Ngyen’s hands before he could shoot them all up and yelling at him about  _safe handling procedures_ and  _it’s not a fucking toy you idiot_. Unfortunately, the newcomer had a tendency to fiddle with things when he was bored or unsure, but _nobody_ wanted him to be fiddling with a loaded firearm in the command tent.

 

Later that night, as he sat down on his bunk and pulled off his boots, Patrick remembered the paper. Pulling it from his pocket, he had unfolded it and hadn’t been able to keep the smile from spreading across his face as he read Pete’s familiar scrawl, having recognized his handwriting from mission notes. 

 

_I know you’re super busy being a hero and all…but I just wanted you to know that even though we’re busy, I’m always thinking about you. Seeing your beautiful face (no matter for how long or short) is the best thing that happens to me. You’re awesome, and I think I’m going to die of misery when you’re gone…but I can’t wait for us to both be Not Here. xo-Pete_

 

Patrick had sighed a totally sappy sigh before carefully re-folding the note and tucking it safely into his wallet.

 

Now, standing at the airfield, he pulled the note out and re-read it. It was a bit more worn then the day Pete had given it to him from the hundreds of times he’d taken it out and read it, but he could still see the words clearly. He tucked it back into its place and looked out from the Passenger Terminal—more or less just a couple of canvas carport-type things stacked side-by-side to provide a bit of shelter to the assembled folks who were waiting to leave. 

 

_Where was Pete?_

 

He had said he would come say goodbye…had he forgotten? Had the raid been pushed up? A hundred reasons flashed through Patrick’s mind—some farfetched, some silly, all avoiding the nagging question of whether the craziness in their lives in the last two weeks had shown the ugly possibility that they wouldn’t be able to handle being separated for once they were out of the desert, once they were thrust into reality, away from terrorists and wars. Patrick had worried incessantly if Pete would forget about him,if he’d land back Stateside and realize that he was nothing more than a short, nerdy, pale Air Force dude. That the sparks he’d felt fly so brightly between them were just the haze of combat stress and homesickness.  _I mean, how crazy was this. I meet the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in a combat zone on a deployment, and somehow he likes me too? It’s seriously almost doomed from the start…_  

 

Looking up, he scanned the area again, looking for the familiar face. A voice called over the loudspeakers scattered around the airfield, “Thirty minutes until passenger loading will begin. Please have your orders out and ready.” He sighed, shoulders shagging as he drummed his fingers against his leg.

 

 

~//~

 

“Patrick!!!”

 

Relief flooded Pete’s heart like a cool breeze in the heat of summer as he ran up to the covered area. He would recognize Patrick’s ass anywhere—he studied it at every opportunity after all—and he knew that’s who was standing at the edge of the almost-empty tent, tucking something into the large backpack at his feet. 

 

A wide smile broke across Patrick’s face as he stood, and Pete wanted to kiss those lips more than anything in the world.  _Soon_ he reminded himself,  _one more month._  Skidding to a stop in front of him, Pete pulled Patrick into a hug, reasoning if anyone noticed they would just shrug it off as two battle buddies saying goodbye. No reason to think any different…this was a war, after all. 

 

“Oh my God, I’m so glad I caught you before you left!!” Pete pulled away and looked at the line of people waiting to get onto the huge cargo plane. “That briefing was  _horrible,_  dude. It was only like ten minutes long and everyone had so many questions because that new guy sucks, and he got all flustered and freaked out and it took like forty times as long!” Patrick groaned and shook his head, feeling like all the work of the last two weeks was just draining down a grate somewhere. 

 

“I’m sorry…I did everything I could to make sure he knew—“ 

 

Pete interrupted hurriedly. “Hey, hey. That wasn’t a dig on you, I swear. I’m just saying that we all think you should be our mission briefer forever and never leave us, because you’re about a billion times better than anyone we’ll ever have.” 

 

Even though he looked down at his boots modestly, Pete could still see the smile on Patrick’s face from the praise. “I’d stay if I could, trust me.” 

 

Shrugging, Pete took his hat off and rubbed a hand through his hair before putting it back on. “We’ll be out of here in a month, I’m sure we’ll make it without you. Besides,” he bounced on his toes a bit. “As soon as we’re both not here anymore…we can see about actually hanging out. You know, while not wearing these super awesome outfits.” He spread an expressive hand over their bodies and Patrick laughed. 

 

“Trying to get me undressed already, Wentz?” 

 

Pete affected an overly-cheesy mock look of horror and pressed his hand over his heart. “Why Pattycakes, how can you think I’d have anything but appropriate thoughts about you??” Patrick rolled his eyes at Pete’s antics, and looked towards the cargo plane. The line was rapidly getting shorter as people filed on and found their seats—it was almost time. He looked back to see Pete studying him with a look that was half puppy-dog eyes and half what almost appeared to be nerves. “I’ll really miss you.” The words were low and soft. “I—” He paused and swallowed. “I really want to take you on an actual date one we’re both back home. You know, where I can kiss you at the end.”

 

“Mmmm…that sounds nice.” Patrick smiled at him, but then it turned into something with an edge that made fire shoot down to the place on Pete that hadn’t seen a lot of care or attention these last few months. “Only planning to make it to first base? Not very ambitious.” 

 

Pete’s eyes widened at the blatant tease in Patrick’s not-so-innocent words despite his pretty boy looks, and shit if he didn’t love that…. He looked around, eyes darting to see if anyone was watching. They were largely ignored, nearly alone in a crowd full of people—the line of passengers waiting to get on was far enough away, and the rest of the people running around preparing the plane were busy with their own tasks. So he stepped close. 

 

“I’d love to take it farther, but I’m a gentleman. Can’t be skipping bases, you know?” 

 

Patrick’s lush lower lip was caught between his teeth as he looked at Pete, eyes sorrowful. “Not like we had a chance to, here.“ He smiled, and Pete was mesmerized by the way his lip looked as it fell out from between his incisors, lush and plump and  _calling him, begging to be kissed. “_ Even if the rules are dumb, I’m…I’m so glad I met you. Honestly.” 

 

Something squeezed around Pete’s heart—it could have been the sincerity in Patrick’s voice, or the way his lips looked, or the aching feeling of knowing that he’d be gone soon. But more than anything, he wanted to make sure that Patrick knew how he felt, that this was more than just a passing interest, more than just some whirlwind romance in the middle of a battlefield. But of course, he couldn’t for his life think of any way to say that to him. So—in typical Pete Wentz Fashion—he went with the first idea that popped into his mind. 

 

Stepping close to Patrick, Pete leaned and whispered in his ear, “Well…I’m pretty sure you’ve realized it by now that rules aren’t my thing.” Then he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

 

Patrick’s gasp was audible, and he moved for a moment like he was going to grab Pete and pull him back…but stopped. A blush was painting his cheeks the perfect shade, and Pete could only grin at him, hoping that he knew all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to form into words. One thought, however, burned in his mind, above all the rest. If he could just get Patrick to know that one, it might work…he might have a shot. 

 

“Promise you won’t forget about me?” 

 

Someone shouted something from the cargo plane, and Patrick threw a glance that way before he could respond, and hauled his bag up onto his shoulder. His eyes met Pete’s and they were solemn, weighty with understanding, but also tender with an unspoken understanding.

 

“I promise. I’ll email you, okay?” He reached out and squeezed Pete’s shoulder as something flashed through his eyes. “Be safe.”

 

He nodded as the younger man started backing up, heading towards the plane that would take him thousands of miles across the sea back home. That would take him thousands of miles away from Pete. 

 

Patrick flashed him that same smile that he had first seen in the command tent, the one that went straight into his heart like a lightning bolt with its beauty and sincerity, and took his breath away. 

 

Then he was running towards the ramp, not looking back as it swallowed him. 

 

~//~

 

Patrick half-dropped, half-fell into the last seat, buckling his harness hastily as the plane shuddered down the runway. Around him, people were in various states of excitement to finally be going home—many were already asleep, while others buried themselves in something to keep their mind occupied over the next 18 hours, while others talked excitedly. 

 

He could have done any of those things—he felt all the same emotions as the rest of the plane full of tired, war-weary men and women. But one rose higher  than the others, the same feeling that left him staring into space, his warm, calloused hand pressed to his cheek. Feeling phantom lips brush against him, hearing the vulnerable hope in Pete’s plea— _Don’t forget about me—_ and he sighed. 

 

Like he could  _ever_  forget.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete's head runs away from him a bit now that Patrick's gone, but he has emails to console him...

 

 

Flopping down on his bunk, Pete blew out a sigh. 

 

“What’s wrong, _chico_? Missing your boy?” Garcia’s cackling laughter was loud in the empty tent and Pete glared. 

 

“Yes, if you must know. None of you fuckers are as nice to look at, that’s for damn sure.” 

 

His best friend rolled his eyes. “He’s only been gone two days, bro. Don’t worry…we’ll be out of here soon and you can go fuck his brains out or whatever.” 

 

Pete only nodded. He had gotten an message from Patrick that morning, the kind that you could send as a text message but that transferred over to become an email. It had simply said < _Made it home in one piece. Miss you already, hope you’re safe. > _Pete had read it about fifty times, imagining Patrick typing out the words standing in the airport waiting for his bag to come down from the conveyer belt. God he had it bad. 

 

“Well…I’ll leave you to your misery. Don’t dig yourself in too deep, _amigo_.” With that, Garcia left the tent and Pete was alone again. 

 

What he didn’t tell his best friend—mostly because he wasn’t quite sure how to even explain it to himself, much less his Very Straight Teammate—was that he wasn’t just thinking _about_ Patrick. He was thinking about _sex with Patrick,_ which wouldn’t surprise anyone. But more to the point…he couldn’t get the idea of Patrick _fucking him_ out of his head. 

 

As a general rule, Pete was a top. He didn’t like anal penetration that much—he’d done it once or twice, but it hadn’t been anything special and he hadn’t finished from it. It was more just annoying and a bit painful for no payoff in his experience.  He was usually the one doing the fucking…but that’s not what he was thinking about, that’s not what was holding his thoughts in a loop of lust and arousal and want so consuming it made him wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night. He hoped to God the rest of them hadn’t noticed.

 

Sitting up, he crawled out of his bunk and shut the tent flap, hanging his canteen from the peg, the sign they had come up with to mean _Personal Time in the Tent—Stay Out._ Going back to his bunk, he flopped down and pulled the blanket over him, just in case, and unbuttoned his pants. He felt like he’d been half-hard forever…pretty much since Patrick left, and these _thoughts_ had just been bombarding him.

 

_Patrick’s lips pressed against his own as he pushes aside Pete’s boxers, pressing hungry, wet kisses down his neck as he slides a finger into him, working it in slowly and Pete’s back arches up into him almost of its own accord. He adds a second one, coming back to kiss him deep and hard, tongue dancing across his lips and dipping into his mouth. He crooks his fingers just the right way, and something lit on fire inside him, and he can feel Patrick smile against his mouth as he whispers “I’m going to make this so good for you.”_

 

_Patrick’s body on top of his, buried to the hilt inside him. His weight is comforting, safe, tethering him to this moment. He’s still, waiting for Pete to adjust and murmuring soft praises in his ear that make Pete want more, make him crave the motion like he’s never wanted anything in his life. He’s unashamedly begging, pleading for Patrick to move, and he obliges slowly, smiling down at Pete with a teasing cast on his face that makes him gasp. He begins to build up speed, looping one arm under Pete’s leg and adjusting the angle…and then Pete feels it. Feels the electric shock of ecstasy shoot up his spine and Patrick is plunging into him, over and over, a fine sheen of sweat coating his fair skin. He’s breathing heavier now, moaning the most beautiful cries that are soft and high and make Pete go crazy._

 

_Patrick’s hand on his cock, stroking it just the right way, fingers sliding up over the head with the perfect amount of pressure before coming back down with a mind-blowing twist of his wrist. He’s murmuring encouragement in Pete’s ear, breath warm and soft skittering across his skin. Telling him how close he is, how how he looks, how amazing he feels, how much he loves being inside him, how hard he’s going to make Pete come…_

 

With a muffled cry, his own frenzied motion brings the fantasy to life as he comes— _hard—_ all over his hand. He shudders through the wave, feeling the phantom of Patrick’s hand sliding over his cock just the way he needs, imagining the way Patrick would sound when he comes—would he curse out low and guttural and groaning? Would he cry out Pete’s name with a shuddering exhalation? Would be close his eyes and be silent, body shaking out his pleasure? 

 

He didn’t know, but he desperately wanted to find out. 

 

Nothing had ever made him want to do this…to hand over his body to someone else, let them pull pleasure from his own flesh and give it back to him. Something about Patrick—there was something abut him that made him want to lay down and give him _everything._ To give him every inch of his body, every corner of his spirit. He wanted to lay in the sun on a blanket on a windy hill and watch the clouds blow past while Patrick told him about his favorite foods, his favorite memories, his favorite movies. He wanted to take Patrick’s clothes off a piece at a time and touch every inch of him, feel all the bones under his porcelain skin, and let him do the same to him. He wanted to give him _everything_. 

 

~//~

 

<[pstumph323@gmail.com](mailto:pstumph323@gmail.com)> 9/14/2002 4:03am

 

_Hey Pete…I hope this makes it to you, and that you’re safe and sound. I made it home yesterday and man, I forgot how amazing air conditioning and my bed and my shower and Burger King is. Had about fifteen appointments in the last few days…you would think coming home from a deployment would be easier than going on one, but apparently not. I doubt I have any blood left in my body, they’ve taken so much of it for tests. Oh well._

 

_Hope you and the team are doing well, and that Ngyen is settling in a bit better. I’m sorry he did so poorly the day I left. I promise I did my best to make him a mini-me. I think about you all the time, and I…hope you’re thinking about me? Because if I’m the only one…that would just be sad. —Patrick_

 

 

[deathandpizza@gmail.com](mailto:deathandpizza@gmail.com) 9/15/2002 5:07am

 

_PAAAATTTTYYYYCAAAKKEEESSSSS! Dude i miss you so much already you have NO idea. Like seriously i went to say hi to you and you weren’t there and shit that ngyen dude is okay and all but he is NOT you. Like, for sure not you. Cause you're way hotter ;) ;) ;)_

 

_Missions are going just dandy the team bitches every single time that you’re not here. your packets n briefs were the_ [ _bomb.com_ ](http://bomb.com) _dude no shit. Plus I miss the post-it notes in mine from my favorite person <3 Its hot and I hate you for your air conditioning and your burger king :P Enjoy it up for me until I get back and can stuff my damn face so much omg I'm gonna get so fat and not give a fucccckkk. But no i rly just want some pizza so bad you have no idea. theres this amazing place in Cali that does this one called the t-rex (DINOSAURS ARE THE BEST) and it has like every kinda meat in the world on it—sausage bacon ham pepperoni like everything and tons of it. Its my favorite cause you know i like my meat all up in my mouth! But especially on pizza ;)_

 

_Anyways ur crazy if you think i’m not thinking about you. its like my new favorite thing, thinking about you because when you were here hanging out with you was my favorite, so…this is like the best i can do until we’re both back in THE LAND OF FREEDOM. But idk if this is like creepy or too much (you can totally tell me to chill cause i know i can kinda go from 0 to 5000 in like 10 seconds) but I really do miss you like a lot. you’re something really special and I know its nuts where we met and i know that its gonna be a bit of work to try to figure something out when i get home…but i really want to do it. Cause you're fuckin worth it, I know it._

 

_okay well garcia is punching me cause his fat ass his hungry so gotta go. write me back SOON! -xo pete_

 

 

<[pstumph323@gmail.com](mailto:pstumph323@gmail.com)> 9/16/2002 9:33pm

 

_You know the only reason I let you get away with your idiotic nicknames is because I like you too, dumbass. As a rule, I hate them, so consider it a sign of my favor :) Anyways, I’m sorry that Ngyen isn’t keeping things the same, but I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t say that to make you jealous but don’t worry…you’ll be home soon enough, and eating as much pizza as you want. That T-Rex one sounds really good…I like pasta a bit more if we’re talking Italian? But I also love a good pepperoni pizza._

 

_You don’t have to tell me you move faster than most…I kinda gathered that about you by now. I’m alright with it though, if you are. I was thinking, and maybe it’s more than I should, but would you want me to come out to San Diego when you get home and settled? I’m about to take my mandatory time off, but I’ve got quite a bit of leave saved up. I’d really like to spend some of it with you, if that was something you would like? Because I think you’re special too, and I honestly still have a hard time believing that someone who looks like you and has the amazing personality you do is interested in me. But hey, I guess that means I’ve gotta hook you before you come to your senses, so…just let me know._

_—Patrick_

 

 

[deathandpizza@gmail.com](mailto:deathandpizza@gmail.com) 9/17/2002 1:09am

 

_Ohmygoshyesssssssss. Dude you have no idea, I was trying to figure out how to ask you myplaceoryours without sounding like a high school dumbass or a creep. But YES pleasepleaseplease come to CA. That would seriously be the greatest thing in the world. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, like we can be as touristy as you like I don’t even care! What would you wanna do? I mean I’m gonna be totally honest with you, I’m like a total badass event planner under everyones noses, so I’ll make you the PERFECT day, or week, or however long you wanna stay =)_

 

_You're crazy, pizza is just the best, pasta doesn’t even hold a fuckin’ candle to it! You’re lucky you’re cute, otherwise this might never work with such radical views. BUT I love me a good fehttuchini Alfredo with fuckin’ garlic shrimp. OMG lunchbox I’m getting so hungry just thinking about it…DAMN YOU AND YOUR FOOD ;) ;) I seriously am going to do nothing but eat when I get home, like I’m seriously mediating about fuckin’ mozzarella right now. Omg and garlic bread, or those little garlic knots, you know? With parmesan!? FUCK going to the chow hall is gonna suck tonight with all this food stuff running around my brain! YOUR FAULT!!! :P but I’m okay w/ it ehehe._

 

_mkkkaayyyy so lets talk about this weird self-deprecating thing you have going on. Its adorable and way cute, but you need to seriously listen to me for a minute here, hot stuff. You’re literally the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve only seen you in your funky camo, and I STILL think that. Like, I’m pretty sure I’d creep you out and you’d never reply and pretend to move and never talk to me again if I told you all the things I’ve thought about you when you were briefing us. Cause news flash: I maybe wasn’t 100% engaged in mission prep when you would talk, let me tell you….my mind was definitely elsewhere, and I have zero shame about it ;) ;) ;) But if you think you gotta hook me or something, you're dead wrong because I’M the one who has to grab YOU before you realize I’m just a crazy adrenaline-junkie that has a seriously messed up brain. so yeah. Just can it with that shit and anytime you want me to tell you how awesome and hot and cool you are, you just ask ;)_

_-xo pete_

 

 

<[pstumph323@gmail.com](mailto:pstumph323@gmail.com)> 9/20/2002 3:48pm

 

_Sorry it took me a bit to reply….I drove home to Chicago to see my family (13hrs in the car is a long time) and my mom literally wouldn’t let me out of her sight for a solid day. Pretty sure she didn’t breathe at all for the first couple hours because she was talking so much and fussing. But hey…that’s what moms are for, right? Somehow she got into her head that I love meatloaf, so she made the biggest one I’ve ever seen and made me eat seconds…I seriously hate meatloaf. I’m guessing my sister’s to blame for that one. It’s cool to see them all though, especially my brother. He just had a kid, and I’m pretty sure she’s the cutest thing in the world. I may take her back to VA with me._

 

_Hmmm…you say lots of nice things and I’m honestly really glad that you aren’t saying them in person because I’d probably make a total idiot of myself. I’m not very good at…expressing emotions. But its definitely easier to write it down, because I can delete the stuff that sounds really stupid and hopefully keep your opinion of me as a functioning human being somewhat intact. But I don’t think you’re messed up at all, and you’re definitely overly-kind with your opinion of me. But I guess I shouldn’t tempt fate or question a miracle, right? Because you’re honestly amazing. I think what you do is incredible, I really enjoy your company, and I can’t help but tell you that you’re seriously one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. The fact that you’re even into guys—and then me on top of it!—is awesome. Hence why I’m totally excited to come see you. Just let me know when you think I should come out, and I’ll book my tickets. I’ll just need a bit of a headstart so I can get my leave approved…but I’ll be there._

 

_Hope you’re being safe, and keeping out of trouble._

_—Patrick_

 

_P.S.—I’m down to do whatever. What kind of things are there to do? I’ve never been to the West Coast._

 

 

[deathandpizza@gmail.com](mailto:deathandpizza@gmail.com) 9/22/2002 6:44pm

 

_Meatloaf seriously is the grossest thing in the world. Ew. YOU ARE NOW CHRISTENED MEATLOAF LUNCHBOX VON STUMPH. Okay maybe not…that one might be a bit long. I’ll think of something better. Your family sounds great and yah. my mom practically watches me sleep when I go home, so I get you._

_I’m pretty sure no matter what you said I’d still think you were awesome…but I won’t lie, that cute shy thing that turns into a mini sex-god thing you have going on is definitely awesome. And hey, I get it that you aren’t a master of words and poetry and romance like me, but I’m glad I at least get a peek into that head of yours, even if it is through emails like its still 1995. And yeahhhhhh I can’t even tell you how much I stressed about if you had like a hot supermodel girlfriend back home or if you were gonna like call me a loser fag if I told you I swung that way. Its seriously the best news Ive heard in a long time….and I mean…your ass is amazing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed ;) ;) also, I’m gonna need you to sing again, pretty please? Because you’re voice is literally golden. I think about you singing joy division sometimes when i cant sleep and its the best lullaby ever <3_

 

_Not totally sure when. We’re doing a bunch of changeover with the SEAL team that’s replacing us and doing the fucking bane of war—aka INVENTORY of all the shit we’ve used. I swear they should just give us unlimited everything, I’m a motherfucking badass after all! :P But I’ll give you as much heads up as I can. Probably somewhere in the second week of october? Now, lets get to the important shit—PARTAYYYYY PLANNINGGGGG. There’s seriously so much to do in SoCal, its awesome. Like, we could go surfing or boogie boarding or build sandcastles or whatever, or we could go ride those cute double bikes like an old-people couple or we could go to disneyland or theres tons of museums or like…i don't know. If you dream it it will come, cause CA has like everything in the world. So what do you like to do I guess? One thing for sure, WE ARE GETTING PIZZA and I’m gonna take you to this kickass place called Shakespeares. its a british pub i totally found by accident and it is a fucking NATIONAL TREASURE._

 

_Of course I’m safe. I’m A BADASS. Duh. But happy to know you care ;) <3 Drive safe back to VA n ENJOY THE MEATLOAF!!_

_—xoxoxoxoxox pete_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are still reading!! Love you!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE HAPPY REUNION AT LAST!!!!! =D

 

Pete couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of his feet a bit in excitement as he contemplated his good luck. Meet this incredible guy while deployed to Afghanistan of all places, actually hit it off while in a war zone, _and_ it hadn’t melted away once they were both back in the states and not on the crazy endorphin rush that was combat ops? That was some damn crazy lucky shit.

 

Everyone had told him that it was just something that happened sometimes when you were deployed—it was just one of those things that came out of the rush of _over there_ and once he was back, it would go away. That it was just a coincidence of all the divergent emotions deployments inspired. The crushing solitude that somehow accompanied being surrounded by people in a strange place. The shared camaraderie of a single purpose and the belief you’re doing something worthwhile. The tension of running 24/7 operations in a hostile nation and the constant fear that something would happen to the people around you that had grown to be closer than family.

 

But it hadn’t. They had both come home—Pete a month after Patrick—and they had texted and talked constantly, and it all culminated in this moment. In him waiting in the airport for Patrick to walk out of the terminal _for real._ He had deliberated what he should wear for like…the entire morning. Finally, he had just grabbed the first thing out of his closet, thrown it on, and left, figuring that was the best plan. It had turned out okay—comfy jeans, his worn-in black chucks, and a Iron Maiden t-shirt. He pulled out his phone and checked for the twentieth time to see if he had a text…

 

“Pete?” 

 

His head shot up and then he froze at the sight. Of Patrick standing in front of him. Of creamy skin and blue eyes and those _lips._ Of…a sweater?

 

Patrick Stumph was standing there, and he was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, ratty black combat boots, a dark grey v-neck and a _red fucking sweater._

 

He had never seen anything more adorable.

 

Then his body remembered how to move and he leapt forward to crush Patrick in a hug. The material of the sweater was soft under his fingers, but the best thing was the way he fit against him. It would be a total lie to say he hadn’t thought of this moment—what hugging Patrick would feel like now that they weren’t separated by by gear and fatigues and General Order One. 

 

It was even better than he’d imagined. 

 

Patrick stirred and Pete pulled away, realizing that was a hell of a long hug. But the younger man didn’t look disturbed by the fact, and only smiled up at him shyly. “Hey.” 

 

“Hey yourself.” Pete couldn’t help the grin that felt like it was going to split his face in half. “Dude…you are…so fucking nerdy. In the best way.” He hastened to add. 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Well, thanks,” he drawled. “And you’re so…” he looked Pete up and down, “…metal?” 

 

Laughing, Pete looked down at the small duffle bag at his feet. “This your only bag or do you have another?”

 

Shaking his head, Patrick picked it up and swung it over his shoulder. “Nope, this is it.” 

 

“Well then.” Pete swept his arm aside with flourish. “Let me be the first to welcome you to California.” 

 

~//~

 

Patrick had insisted he wasn’t tired because he had slept like a rock on the plane, so Pete launched wholeheartedly into taking his visitor to some of his favorite places…beginning with food. 

 

“Oh my gosh, this is _awesome_.” They were walking along the beach eating burritos from Los Betos, Pete’s favorite Mexican hole-in-the-wall, and Patrick had a beatific look on his face. “Seriously, how can something this good come from a place that looks like that?!” 

 

“Rule number one of California cuisine: When it comes to Mexican, the shittier the decor and the louder the Mariachi music, the better the food’s gonna be.” Pete grinned happily to see Patrick enjoying his burrito so thoroughly, stuffing another huge bite into his mouth. They passed by a bench and Pete pulled him towards it, the younger man going willingly. They sat eating in relative silence, the sound of the surf and the distant noises of children playing the only counterpoint to the peaceful crash of the waves. 

 

Eventually, Patrick finished and slumped down. “I am _so_ full.” 

 

“That’s the point.” He patted Patrick’s knee teasingly, but then realized as his hand lingered that he was no longer _patting_ , he was more like _rubbing_. Patrick looked up at him and gave him that small smile, and covered Pete’s hand with his own, and he couldn’t help the thrill that rushed through him at that. 

 

“So, this is the Pacific, huh?” Patrick was looking at the water sparkling endlessly and Pete hummed back agreement, but couldn’t help but notice how the wind was making his cheeks turn the faintest pink. Sadly his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but damn if that didn’t mean Pete could just stare unashamedly at his lips. _Those lips are seriously the most amazing things in the world_ he thought as he considered the rest of his companion—the sweater was close-fitting and didn’t hide the softness under his clothing, the thin layer of pudge on his stomach, the curve of his hips. Pete couldn’t think of anything more tantalizing than wrapping his arms around those curves, tasting his skin and feeling the soft skin under his lips. He also couldn’t help but be totally taken with the nerdy punk thing Patrick had going on—it was adorable and suited him so perfectly.

 

Looking over and catching where Pete’s eyes were lingering, Patrick made a face. “Ummm yeah if you can’t tell, I go to the gym as much as I have to, but it’s not really my thing.”

 

“Oh my God dude, shut up.” Pete shook his head violently, almost insulted that Patrick would think he was doing anything but admiring. “Let me ogle you for fuck’s sake, and while we’re on that subject, you’re gorgeous. If you were some crazy body-builder, I’m not saying I wouldn’t still be interested, but I’m all about some curves and a little something to grab onto.” He winked and Patrick blushed, looking down and trying to hide his grin. 

 

“Mmmm.” He only hummed in answer and slid over a bit so he could lay his head on Pete’s shoulder, and Pete couldn’t help it—he closed the distance and wrapped an arm around his crush, pulling him close. Patrick melted into him perfectly and Pete sighed, heart doing flip-flops as Patrick murmured _this is nice._

 

Looking out at the sun shining on the waves with this amazing guy snuggled against his side, Pete couldn’t help but agree.

 

~//~

 

Once they had finished digesting, Pete had taken Patrick to his favorite music store, hoping that he would like it. _Like_ was a bit of an understatement—they had ended up spending four hours there, Patrick flitting between the many instruments and the collection of records like a drunken butterfly. The store catered to almost every type of musical style imaginable, and had instruments from all over the world. They had sat and played around—Pete on an acoustic bass and Patrick on a 12-string—for a while, laughing and playing one song and then rolling into another. He couldn't help but watch the way Patrick’s fingers looked as he flicked through the vinyls, balancing on the tops of the albums delicately as he looked at each like it was precious. They had gotten into several not-really _-heated_ but definitely _passionate_ discussions over which band had the best percussive rhythms and other varied topics, but Pete couldn’t think of when he had been more relaxed and happy. He had laughed when Patrick picked up a _bodhran_ and started playing it like a champ, wrist lax and loose as he twirled the tipper and coaxed a complicated beat from the round skin, shimmying his hips like a total idiot the whole time and smiling like he knew it. Eventually, they had left, Patrick fairly buzzing about how amazing the store was and how he was going to need to come back before he left and buy like half of their records. 

 

The ended up getting a T-Rex pizza from Pete’s favorite place—and Patrick had agreed with him it was pretty amazing. But he had decided the company was what was _awesome_ —Patrick was telling him a story about some sort of prank they had pulled on him when he got back to work, and he found himself relaxing into the easy conversation. Patrick took another bite of pizza and gave him a contemplative look as he chewed. 

 

“So, is this a date?” 

 

Panic flared in Pete’s chest—fuck he hadn’t meant it like that, because if this had been that _first date_ like he had said on the airfield, it sure as hell wouldn’t have involved plastic tablecloths or him wearing a band tee. His brain started running in circles, a million miles an hour. Did Patrick want it to be a date? Should he say yes and risk him being disappointed? Or say no and then try to explain it wasn’t because he didn’t _want_ it to be a date, but that he was wayyyy more into Patrick than was worthy of plastic tablecloths? That might freak him out, of course, but…Pete suddenly became aware it had been about three seconds longer than a normal silence, and it was starting to edge into weird, so he blurted out the best thing he could think of. 

 

“Hell no! This is just food. You’ll _know_ when I take you on a date, Pattycakes.” 

 

Something flashed through Patrick’s eyes—it wasn’t quite disappointment, because it had a mischievous air to it. But at least Patrick wasn’t staring at him like he had totally put his foot in his mouth…so he counted it as a win.

 

“Fair enough.” Patrick took another bite and cocked his head a bit, giving Pete a cheesy stare. “I’ll be on the lookout.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who are still reading and commenting--it means the world to me! I hope you're enjoying this still...next chapter will have a surprise =)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! :P Here's my present to you...hope you all enjoy!!!

 

They finished eating, and then started the drive back to Pete’s, fighting California traffic the whole way. Pete told him about his team’s crazy antics at their pre-deployment party and that they were having a homecoming celebration that weekend, if he’d like to go. Patrick’s eyes had lit up a bit at that and he had nodded, saying he had missed the team and it’d be great to see them again. But then something made him look down, a slight tension in his shoulders. “That is…would I be in the way?” 

 

Shaking his head fervently, Pete shoved him softly, making the car swerve a bit. “No way dude. You’re like…our adopted-Redheaded-Air-Force-stepchild. Practically one of the family.” Rolling his eyes, Patrick had mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _oh good that’s what I always wanted,_ but the tension was gone and they had continued the drive with laughter and stories. 

 

It was dark by the time they reached their destination, and he realized a bit guiltily he had really kept Patrick busy all day. Pete wondered if he had been lying about not being tired…oh well. Nothing to do about that now. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open. “Welcome to _mi_ _casa.”_

 

Stepping inside, Patrick looked around, and Pete realized for the first time how bare it looked. Plain grey couch, TV, and a small table with two chairs that he had never sat at—maybe he should buy some _stuff._ Like a blanket or some throw pillows or something. He also became aware that _Patrick_ was _in his apartment._ His mind went into overdrive, fantasies and anxiety and fear mixing to make his mouth just start seemingly running of its own accord.

 

“So, umm…the guest bedroom is down the hall, first door. You can drop—“

 

All that went out of his mind when Patrick turned around and dropped his bag to press his body gently against him. His lips pressed lightly against Pete’s, and he swore that his knees wobbled at the almost electric feeling that thundered through him. Patrick pulled away, and Pete felt like crying that those lips weren’t touching his anymore. Hedropped his head to look at where Patrick’s hands hands were resting on his chest. Then he met Pete’s gaze, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes, and the prettiest blush Pete had ever seen was working its way across his face. 

 

“I’m sorry, I…I’ve just been thinking about doing that since, well…” His voice got quieter and dropped off into awkward silence, and Pete could only think of one thing to say. All his fantasies of the last two months thundered through his mind, all the times he thought of Patrick _doing things to him_ …and the words left his mouth on the back of a whisper. 

 

“Do it again.” Patrick’s eyes darted up to his, questioning and uncertain, and it took everything in Pete to not just drop to his knees and beg. He wasn’t really into that kind of thing, but for Patrick maybe he was, who knows? Instead, he said the only thing that his stuttering, lust-flushed brain could muster after so many months of want. “ _Please_.” 

 

The uncertainty faded from Patrick’s eyes, and was replaced with something in-control and _hot_. A confident smile played on his lips, and he reached up to cup Pete’s cheek with his hand. It was tender and beautiful and everything soft and warm…

 

Until his other hand shot out like lightning to wrap around Pete’s waist and pull him close as Patrick _pushed him against the wall and kissed him._

 

Now the kiss wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender, it wasn’t tentative. It was _hungry_ , it was _demanding_ , it was everything Pete had been hoping for and _holy fuck so much more._ If he had thought hugging Patrick in the airport had been a revelation, he realized he was so wrong. Here, that gorgeous body was pressed against his own and there was nothing _chaste_ about it. Patrick’s hips were pushed firmly against his, and his hand was wandering along the skin right above his waistband while the other one was firmly woven into his hair, holding him at the exact angle Patrick wanted to kiss him. 

 

_HolyShitPatrick’sFuckingMOUTH…_

 

His lips were every bit as soft as Pete had imagined them, luscious and full. He felt like he had died and gone to heaven…and then they were parting, and Patrick’s tongue was slipping out softly to caress his lips, gentle and yet so perfectly wanting. Without a conscious thought, Pete moaned and opened his own lips to let Patrick in, and he took his time licking and feathering the lightest caresses that made Pete’s body tremble as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of _Patrick’s mouth_. He couldn’t help another moan from escaping at that thought, and he could feel the other man smiling. 

 

Finally pulling away for air, Patrick grinned at him sweetly but his eyes seemed to bore into Pete with a heat that made his knees weak. Absently he played with the skin of Pete’s neck, humming softly as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “So not to be _too_ indelicate, but ummm…do you want to…?” The question hung in the air like smoke on a windless day, and Pete couldn’t get words out fast enough. 

 

“Oh _God, yes please.”_ Pushing Patrick away from him, Pete took a firm grasp of his hand and tugged, taking him past the guest bedroom he was hoping Patrick _never slept in ever_ and towards the door at the end of the hall. Once they were through, Patrick’s mouth was on his own again, hands slipping beneath his shirt and up his back and Pete thought he was just going to _die_ if he had a shirt on anymore. He pulled it off and Patrick’s hands were all over him, pushing him back and onto the bed and dropping him to the comforter with a gentle bounce before he was on top of him. Pete slid his hands under Patrick’s shirt, breaking the kiss for just a moment as he pulled it off him. Their skin touched for the first time and he felt Patrick sigh into his mouth, and _good_ _God_ if that didn’t send a pulse of desire straight to his crotch. 

 

Hands were wandering everywhere—hair, face, shoulders, neck, back, ribs—and all Pete could think was _more more more._ Patrick’s mouth moved against his like he wanted to crawl inside, to taste every part of Pete’s mouth and fuck if Pete didn’t want that too. Unthinking, he pushed up, rolling his hips against Patrick’s and groaning at how good it felt. 

 

But then Patrick was pulling away and Pete wanted to weep, wanting nothing more than to have his mouth back. But Patrick held himself up on an arm looking down at him contemplatively, and Pete couldn’t help but think how _fucking hot_ he looked—lips swollen and glistening pink, face flushed the most amazing shade, and Pete noticed how it spread down his neck and just a bit onto his nearly-hairless chest. He was _gorgeous,_ and _oh God…_ he had pulled his plump bottom lip between his teeth and Pete was overwhelmed with the desire to bite it himself.

 

“How…what do you want?” His voice was gentle, undemanding, questioning, but not tentative. Pete’s courage shook for a moment, wondering what he would think if he told him what he’d been wanting, what he’d been craving…Patrick ducked his head a bit, trying to catch his eyes. “Hey, talk to me. It’s alright.” 

 

“I…God—“ Pete took a deep breath. “I’ve usually always topped, but—“ He looked up at Patrick, afraid of what he’d find in his eyes…but there was only acceptance there, openness and not a shred of expectation. It was like he was just _waiting,_ and Pete found the words just tumbling out. “—but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you fucking me, I don’t know why but I want you to _so bad_ and I don’t know if you—“ Patrick pressed his lips against his, kissing him hard before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and letting it slide out from between his teeth, and all Pete could think was _I’m seriously going to die if he keeps that up_. 

 

“Have you ever done it like that?” Patrick asked softly. 

 

“Yeah, a couple times but it wasn’t anything like…memorable.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Pete looked down as he felt the endless cycle of self-flagellation start—what an awesome way to start things off, telling the hot guy on top of you that your past encounters were less than fantastic. What if Patrick thought that he like…wasn’t very good, or he was faking it? _Way to ruin the mood, idiot, talking about your past exploits, I bet he’s fucking softening up like a banana in the sun—_

 

A sound that was somewhere between a growl and a purr interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Patrick fucking _grinning_ like a lion sizing up its prey. 

 

“Oh, I’m going to make it _memorable_.” 

 

There was the same devilish grin that he had given Pete all those months ago, and his mind flashed back for a split second to what he had said— _Who says I’d be the one on my back?—_ and then Patrick was pulling him up the bed, peppering kisses on his face and neck as he settled him back on the pillows before draping his body over Pete’s again. He ran his hands over the hard planes of Pete’s chest, up his sides and Pete felt like everywhere he touched was on fire. 

 

Soon Patrick’s hands were on Pete’s belt, and then they were both scrabbling, each trying to get the other’s pants off in a flurry of hands and mumbled exclamations. Soon they were both just in their boxers and Patrick had climbed up to straddle Pete’s hips, grinding against him softly. In moments, Pete was rock hard and he was thrilled to feel Patrick was in the same state, the rough slide of his cock against his own with nothing but the thin fabric of their boxers between them was exhilarating.

 

“Are you clean?” Pete couldn’t believe how ragged his voice sounded, how hungry and needy. 

 

Patrick nodded, biting his ear lobe before sucking it into his mouth and worrying it gently. “I’m pretty sure they tested me for everything known to mankind when I got back from Afghanistan.” He nipped down Pete’s neck and back up the other side. “Are you?” Pete nodded eagerly, pressing a sucking kiss to Patrick’s neck and grinned at the resultant shiver. 

 

“Cleaner than a newborn’s ass.” 

 

Patrick stilled for a moment, then shook with silent laughter. “Oh my god, that’s a horrible mental picture. Thanks, jerk.” He shook his head, but was still smiling. “Where’s your lube?” Pete could feel him laughing as he reached into his nightstand drawer and produced a bottle, and he was still at it when he kissed him again, lips moving against his own in perfect time with his hips. Patrick broke away and began peppering hot, wet kisses down his neck, until he came to the junction of his shoulder and neck. Reaching it, he pressed an open mouthed kiss there…and then _bit down_ as he rolled his hips and Pete was pretty sure he saw a glimpse of heaven.

 

“Holy fuck, Patrick.” Pete gasped out at the perfect feeling of pain and pleasure shot through him. The lips continued to move downwards, leaving a trail of fire down his body as Patrick laved at his nipples, biting one as he reached down to tug Pete’s boxers off. Pete gasped out a gurgled moan as Patrick teased with his tongue and finally wrapped a gentle hand around his throbbing cock. 

 

“Mmmm…” Patrick hummed appreciatively, scooting down and finding Pete’s eyes, catching him in a spell of heat and lust as he moved, unable to break away. “This all for me?” 

 

Pete wasn’t sure if he could remember how to make his mouth work into words…so he simply nodded manically and ran a hand gently through Patrick’s hair. He smiled that gorgeously open smile that had capture his heart all those months ago…but then it turned predatory and hungry as he reached Pete’s hips. He moved, letting Pete’s cock brush ever so tantalizingly against his lips, but continued down to suck in the tender flesh around his hipbone, and Pete jerked with the spike of pleasure that shot straight from where Patrick was currently biting a gentle bruise straight to his cock. 

 

A whine fell from his lips, unbidden, but he couldn’t quite find it in him to be embarrassed, because Patrick fucking _grinned_ at him and then licked a long stripe up his shaft, eyes looking up at him with a searing gaze. Pete couldn’t help but watch as he slowly eased up and sucked the head into his mouth, and he thought—just like he had in Afghanistan—that Patrick had a mouth _made_ to suck a cock. His lips were so plump and he looked so damn gorgeous, but that was lost as Patrick began to do positively sinful things with that pretty mouth—swirling his tongue and sucking as he eased a lubed finger into him. Pete clenched instinctively, and Patrick began to gently massage the taught muscles of his inner thigh as he sucked down farther on his dick. The feeling made Pete relax and suddenly the finger didn’t seem quite so much, especially compared to the amazing things currently being done to his cock. 

 

A part of his mind wondered how Patrick had gotten so good at this, and why he wasn’t freaking out about someone’s fingers in his ass…but the majority of Pete didn't care _how,_ he cared just that he got _more._ Patrick gently nudged a second finger in after he had relaxed, and he forced himself to breathe and focus on the way Patrick’s lips looked stretched around his cock, rather than the intrusive feeling. But true to his word, Patrick’s fingers brushed something inside him that made him yelp a truly embarrassing sound and grind down like his life depended on it. 

 

Moaning, Patrick pulled off his cock for a moment and grinned up at him. “That’s the magic spot, huh?” Pete tried to think of something smart to say, something witty, but that was lost as Patrick sucked him back in and added a third finger. The burn was definitely there, but it wasn’t as much, especially when he brushed Pete’s prostate again. It made him break out in a light sweat, it made him feel needy in a way he’d never felt before, especially not when his super hot crush was three-fingers deep in his ass. But none of that mattered, all that he knew was the way _want_ coiled in his stomach, and all the fantasies he had been besieged with after Patrick left thundered into his head.

 

“Please, Patrick please, I want you so bad—“  

 

Pulling off with a positively obscene sound, Patrick looked up at him. “You sure?” His mouth was wet and gorgeous, lips reddened and cheeks flushed. His voice was lower, rougher, and fuck if it didn’t make Pete want to just die, in the best way. 

 

“I swear I’ve never wanted anything more, like _ever_.” Patrick smiled at him again, full of expectant hunger but also gleeful joy. He moved up sinuously to cover Pete’s body, hands guiding his legs to wrap around his waist. 

 

“Kiss me.” 

 

The command was deep and rich, and Pete obeyed. Patrick’s mouth began to move against his and he concentrated on that, on the silken slide of his lips and not the blunt head of his lubed cock pressed against his entrance. 

 

“Put your arms around me.” Patrick whispered against his lips, and he complied, gripping Patrick’s upper arm tightly with one hand and wrapping the other around his shoulders and neck as he kept kissing him. “You can squeeze all you want, but just tap and I’ll stop, okay?” 

 

“—Mmkayy.” Pete mumbled back, wanting Patrick to just _do it_ already. Perhaps feeling his impatience, Patrick kissed him deep and hungry as he pushed inside gently, just past the tight ring of muscle that suddenly reminded Pete it was _very much there._ He stilled as Pete gripped him tightly at the intrusion, willing his body to relax as he melted a bit into Patrick’s mouth. Eventually, he loosened his grip and Patrick pushed in just a bit further, and he broke the kiss to rest his head on Pete’s shoulder. He took a ragged breath and muttered on the exhale a broken _fuck, Pete, oh my God…_ and suddenly Pete was moaning and pushing up, trying to get closer to get more. Patrick seemed to pick up on the cue, and lifted his head from Pete’s shoulder to look at him, eyes wide and delightedly impassioned. “You like that?” Pete could only nod as Patrick pressed in just a few centimeters more, gripping him tightly. Patrick leaned down a licked the shell of Pete’s ear, the whispered words skittering across the flesh like marbles thrown on a frozen lake. “You feel so good, Pete, you have no idea. You’re doing so well.” His voice was lower than normal, pitched and richer like molasses and dark chocolate and smoke. Pete groaned again, feeling his body relaxing under the praise, the slide becoming less painful and more just _there._ Patrick continued slowly, talking to him the whole time between fevered kisses until he was buried to the hilt. Pete took deep breaths as his body tried to accommodate the intrusion, the new fullness. Patrick bit his earlobe and let it slip from his teeth before resuming his encouragement. “You’re incredible, Pete, so so amazing, you feel so good, baby.” The use of the name sent a thrill shooting through Pete just as Patrick pulled out a few centimeters and then pushed back in, lighting that place inside him on fire and making him arch his back helplessly. 

 

“Holy fuck, _Patrick_ — Nothing else came out as Patrick smiled and moved to stroke him at that angle, and suddenly Pete understood why guys were into this because _shit on a stick it felt incredible._ Patrick’s cock was thick and long, hard with just the right softness that meant it pushed but also gave. The slide of his skin against Pete’s felt like it was igniting him, a heat storm that crackled with static electricity and delicious fission. He was surrounded, filled, held down by _Patrick_ , and the way he was kissing him made him feel like he was just a connection on a feedback loop that fed though them both, magnifying and amplifying. 

 

Dimly, Pete realized that Patrick was moaning too, his words coming out punctuated with little breathy gasps that made him see stars and planets and heaven. “Fuck Pete, you’re perfect, you have no idea, God you’re amazing.” Patrick’s hand snaked down between them to wrap around Pete’s rock-hard and leaking cock, and the pleasure hit him like a ton of bricks as Patrick began to twist his hand down the shaft, thumb grazing deliciously over his head in time with his thrusts. Pete didn’t know what he was saying, what kind of foolish things he was babbling because all he could hear was Patrick’s voice in his ear telling him _you’re so fucking hot, so gorgeous, you're doing so well, you feel so amazing, you’re so perfect baby, love the way you feel around me, so tight so perfect._ All he could feel was Patrick’s hand on his cock and the delicious way he was stroking that place deep inside him that made him feel like he was going to shatter into a million pieces. 

 

“Patrick, I’m gonna—, I’m—“ He was shaking, fucking _shaking_ from the perfect way Patrick was moving, stroking all the right places and he knew it wasn’t going to be long. The pleasure was pounding against him like waves against a damn, a hurricane of _more_ and _yes._

 

Then Patrick’s eyes were right above him, blue and blown and full of that delicious edge of hunger and Pete thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “ _Fuck yes,_ come for me, Pete, _please—“_ Then Patrick tucked his head down and bit a bruise on his neck, the perfect counterpoint of sharp and hot…and the storm wall broke. Pete came so hard that his vision went white around the edges, shooting hot and seemingly forever on his stomach as he cried out what he thought was _PatrickPatrickPatrick_ but could have been anything. Distantly, he heard a guttural groan and then Patrick was slamming his hips against him a final time with bruising force as he came. It was like a surge through the shared circuit made by their bodies, and Pete felt like he was riding the wave of Patrick’s orgasm as much as his own. 

 

With a final gasp, Patrick collapsed on top of him, their bodies sweat-slicked and sticky and apparently neither of them cared. Pete could feel his pulse thundering through his ears, heart pounding as Patrick’s gasps skittered against his neck and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this perfect, this amazing. With a groan, Patrick rolled off, and they both groaned as he pulled out. Pushing himself up, Patrick started to move away and Pete was seized with panic— _oh my God was it not good, does he hate me, was that—_ but then Patrick came back with his t-shirt and began to gently wipe them clean. He didn’t meet Pete’s eyes, but his face was still flushed and a faint smile was still dancing on his lips as he cleaned them up. When he finished, he tossed the shirt off the bed, and laid down, finally looking Pete in the eye and _smiling_ the most beautiful smile Pete thought he had ever seen tinged with a bit of concern.

 

“Was—was that okay? I know you said you didn’t skip bases…but I couldn’t really help it.” 

  
Pete’s mind flawed back to the airfield when they said goodbye, his murmured _I’d love to take it farther, but I’m a gentleman. Can’t be skipping bases, you know?_ and he nodded furiously. 

  
“That was _amazing,_ and I think I can totally forgive you under the circumstances.” 

 

Patrick’s blushing grin was adorable and so _him_ that Pete couldn’t help but pull him close and kiss him again. He wound his arms and legs around Patrick and he didn’t push him away, he simply wrapped his arms around Pete and accepted it. 

 

“Should have known you’d be a cuddler.” Patrick laughed gently and pressed a kiss to his scalp as Pete nodded.

 

“Oh yeah. Major cuddler.” He looked up at Patrick, reluctantly moving his face from where it was currently buried in _ohmygodthegreatestchestintheuniverse_ to look up at blue, blue eyes and felt it was an acceptable substitute. “Was that—was that good for you too?” 

 

Rolling his eyes in a way that somehow managed to be more fond than annoyed, Patrick gave him a look and scooted back so he could look Pete in the eye and took his hand. Part of Pete wanted to burrow back in and hide, but he also liked this—liked the way their heads were resting on the same pillow, legs tangled together and hands clasped between them. 

 

“It was perfect, seriously. Just like you.” Patrick’s voice sounded nearly awed, but also filled with humor and something else Pete couldn’t quite place. He was suddenly swept away with the irrationally strong desire to _keep this,_ to say the thing that he’d been tossing around in his head ever since Patrick had offered to come out and see him. Part of him was terrified, screaming at him _you’re going to fuck it up idiot, you’re going to scare him away!_ But something in Patrick’s eyes made him feel brave, made him feel like he had just enough courage to open his mouth…

 

“So, I don’t mean to make this awkward or like, freak you out after some of the best sex of my life, but…” Pete took a deep breath. “I know it was so crazy where we met and everything, and I know we’re like literally stationed on opposite sides of the country, but…I, God Patrick, I can’t get you out of my head, and now I’m _really_ not going to be able to stop thinking about you, like ever. Would you…I know it would be hard, but I really, really want to like make this a thing, make us a thing, like officially. Would you, I mean, you don’t have to say anything now, but—“

 

“Yes.” 

 

Patrick’s soft voice cut through mid-ramble, and Pete felt like he was in a car traveling a million miles an hour that came to a sudden, violent stop. All the things he was trying to say and get out to convince Patrick tumbled around in his brain under the sudden deceleration, and he was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. 

 

“Really?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes then, and gave Pete that same smile he’d given him in the tent, on the airfield when they said goodbye. It was sincerity and beauty and bashfulness and hope all in one. “Yes, really. I was trying to figure out how to ask you the same thing without sounding like a total idiot, but it looks like you beat me to it.” 

 

It felt like Pete’s heart was going to beat out of his chest, like he was going to explode and shrivel up all at once. He cupped Patrick’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips—full of hunger and passion and tenderness. The younger man sighed into it, pulling him closer and rubbing soft circles around and around on the skin of Pete’s back as he kissed him. 

 

Eventually the need to breathe overpowered everything else—which was saying something because kissing Patrick was seriously Pete’s new drug of choice—and Pete pulled away. Patrick’s face was flushed and he looked like _sex_ and _hot_ and _gorgeous_ and Pete just couldn’t believe it. Nuzzling his nose against Patrick’s, he grinned. “Seriously, this was the best day ever. Music, pizza, and now I’ve got the world’s hottest boyfriend.” Patrick blushed and looked down and Pete just couldn’t let that go, singing the word tunelessly. “Boyyyyyfrreiinddddddd.” 

 

Laughing, Patrick pulled the covers up over them. “Okay, _boyfriend_ , well it’s cuddle and pass-the-hell out time now.” 

 

Burrowing back into Patrick’s arms, the blankets forming a cocoon around them, Pete yawned as it all hit him like a ton of bricks. He wrapped an arm around Patrick’s middle, relishing how soft it was, and pressed a kiss to the closest bit of his _holyshitnewboyfriend_ he could reach, which happened to be a creamy expanse of neck. Patrick only hummed and started to rub soothing circles in Pete’s scalp, pulling him closer as they both drifted to sleep, warm and perfect.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete takes Patrick on that date =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me! This chapter is turning out to be SUPER long, so I'm splitting it in two. Hopefully I'll have the other half for you soon! Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the love and comments!

 

The next day, Pete woke up to late morning sunlight streaming through his windows and a soft, warm body pressed tightly against his own. _A very naked body_ his mind helpfully supplied, and Pete was not one to let an opportunity like that pass him by. 

 

“Morning…” He nuzzled Patrick’s neck, and was rewarded by a groan and a huff and Patrick _rolling over onto his back._ Pete thought surely he would open those gorgeous eyes, but instead his jaw slackened and his mouth fell slightly open, his breath whistling adorably in his sleep. 

 

 _You have got to be kidding me._ Pete rolled his eyes and poked Patrick’s cheek gently—no response. An idea flitted through his head and he thanked whatever deities had made him so fuckin’ brilliant. _So you wanna play it that way, Stumph?_

 

The soft, high-pitched moans Patrick made in his sleep as Pete took his half-hard cock in his mouth were quite possibly the hottest things he’d ever heard…but then he had to knock them down to _second-hottest_ as Patrick gave a startled, shuddering groan as he woke up and threaded his hands into Pete’s hair with a soft _fuck, Pete, oh my God_ as he started to thrust gently, cock filling and hardening in his mouth and hell if that wasn't a turn on. A minute later he came hard down Pete’s throat with a high-pitched wail, voice cracking at the end adorably _._

 

He decided morning sex with Patrick was probably his new favorite thing as the younger man cracked open an eye and mumbled something that sounded like _come here_ between gasping breaths. Pete complied and slid back up Patrick’s body and gasped as he took a hold of his weeping cock. Patrick was adorable, sleep-drunk and high from the orgasm, but he bit and sucked at Pete’s neck as his hand worked sloppily on his cock. Getting close, Pete groaned as Patrick pulled his mouth from his neck to whisper filthy things in his ear, things he had never imagined would come out of Patrick’s angelic mouth…and then he was bucking up into Patrick’s hand as he came with a hoarse cry. 

 

They curled around each other after Pete sacrificed one of his pillowcases to cleaning them up. Patrick’s weight was warm and heavy and perfect in his arms, and he decided they could stay naked in bed the whole time and there would be zero complaints from him. 

 

But soon enough, both their stomachs rumbled and Patrick stirred in his arms. “I’m not a morning person, if you can’t tell.” 

 

“It’s almost noon, so I don’t know if that counts as morning.” Grinning, Pete pressed a kiss to his collarbone and nuzzled into his neck. “Was that not a good way to wake you up, then?” 

 

Patrick let out a huffing laugh tinged with a healthy dose of morning grumpiness. “That’s probably the _only_ way to wake me up.” 

 

Laughing, Pete kissed his cheeks and Patrick opened his eyes finally to smile at him, blue and sleepy and adorable. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

~//~

 

They spent the early afternoon in their pajamas, eating cereal (all Pete really had in the way of breakfast) and drinking coffee and half-heartedly watching reruns of _Rick and Morty._ They talked and laughed, telling stories about their exploits—Patrick told him about when they were living in Germany and his brother had told a very loud, very _endowed_ woman that Patrick wanted to take her home and then disappeared. She had clung to him the rest of the night, and he was at first confused why she was being so _pushy_ and brazen. But when she finally told him she was down to ride him like a toy pony he had flushed bright red and haltingly tried to stammer out _thank you but no thanks?_ Which had left her fuming and yelling at him in expletive-laced German. Pete laughed heartily at that, and told him about the time he had jumped off his parents roof with a beach umbrella and broken his ankle. 

 

They took a shower, complete with wandering hands and hot, open-mouthed kisses. Pete laved up his hands and washed Patrick’s flushed skin, covering it in bubbles and grinning like an idiot as his fingers brushed places that made him gasp. Afterwards, they dried off and Pete grinned at him. “Did you bring anything nice to wear?” 

 

Patrick looked at him in the steamed up mirror, towel around his head as he fluffed his head dry and it was _so damn adorable_ Pete wanted to dance up and down. “Ummm…I have a button up and a sweater, does that count as nice?” 

 

“Perfect.” Pete pressed a kiss to his neck and left the bathroom, making sure to swing his ass a bit as he left. Just in case. 

 

Thirty minutes later they walked out of the apartment looking pretty snazzy, if Pete was being honest. He was wearing a white button up and a vest (unbuttoned, come on) and Patrick was in a purple checkered button up with a dark grey sweater over the top. His fedora was once again propped on his head, but today he was wearing his blocky glasses, saying it was because he had fallen asleep with his contacts in the night before. Pete was just thrilled that meant no sunglasses, which meant he could stare at Patrick’s gorgeous eyes _all the time._

 

“So where are we going that we had to get fancy?” Patrick asked as Pete started the car. 

 

“Well, first we’re going to grab a tiny lunch at this amazing fish taco shack I know. _Then—“_ He reached out and tapped Patrick’s nose like an idiot, prompting him to roll his eyes. “—I’m taking you on a proper date.” 

 

~//~

 

After the fish tacos, Pete drove to the one place guaranteed to prove if dating Patrick was meant to be.

 

“What the hell is a Dave and Buster’s?” Patrick asked as they stepped out of the car. 

 

Pete couldn’t contain his grin. “You’ve never been to one of these before?” Patrick shook his head. “Oh man, hold onto your pants, Pattycakes.” 

 

Four hours and five drinks each later, Pete’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Patrick’s sweater and hat were on the table. They had played Skee Ball (that had been a battle to the death as they kept tying each other), killed hundreds of zombies in the shotgun game (Pete won and Patrick kept getting eaten), played Punch-the-gopher fifteen times (Patrick was unbeatable) and the basketball game (they were both horrible). Now they were hunched over a blacklight-illuminated air hockey table, ready to kill each other. 

 

“I am going to fuck you up so hard, Stumph!” Pete was grinning madly at the other end, hunched over his goal like a troll guarding its bridge. 

 

“You say that…but you’d better be ready to put your money where your mouth is, fucker.” Patrick was flushed, grinning widely. Pete slid the quarter into the slot and grabbed the puck from the slot. They played, ricocheting the small plastic disc off the sides and their paddles at lightning speed…the game was close, but eventually Patrick sank the winning goal into Pete’s side and the lights spun around his half of the table. 

 

Pete couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous dance Patrick did—scooting this way and that on the balls of his feet, before twirling around and coming out in a overdone MJ impression. His eyes were dancing with mirth as he picked up his sweater and his hat from the table by their drinks, and color stained high on his cheekbones as he smiled. 

 

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!” He crowed, pressing a sloppy kiss to Pete’s cheek, and Pete wrapped his arms around him and found his lips, sealing them together and dipping into that glorious mouth for a few seconds of heaven. When they pulled away, Patrick’s cheeks were still flushed, but he was breathing slower, deeper and his eyes were dreamy. “Mmmm…I like kisses like that when I win.” 

 

“Losing isn’t so bad with that as the consolation prize.” Pete grinned at him. “Come on, let’s go eat.” Patrick pulled on his sweater and Pete settled the hat on his head at a jaunty angle that made him laugh as he straightened it out. Guitar-calloused fingers found his own, and Pete didn’t even try to hide the smile as Patrick’s hand fit perfectly into his own. They walked out into the crisp evening air, the breeze off the ocean bringing the scent of sea and sand. 

 

“Where are we going?” Patrick gave him a look. “I don’t think either of us should drive quite yet.” 

 

Shaking his head, Pete pointed to the right. “Nah, no driving. Place we’re eating is like a half a mile that way, I figured we could walk.” 

 

Patrick didn’t say anything, only hummed in acknowledgement and moved just a tad closer as they headed down the strand. The lights of the bars and restaurants glittered as they went, breeze stirring the fronds of the palms above. 

 

“So was the Skee ball part of the date?” Patrick looked at him from beneath long lashes. “Or is the date when we start eating dinner?” 

 

“Oh no, Lunchbox.” Pete grinned widely. “The Skee ball was _definitely_ part of the date.” 

 

The look on Patrick’s face was smug for some reason but Pete couldn’t quite decipher, but there was something satisfied about it as he nodded. “Good.”

 

They ate at some place called Roy’s, with candlelight and white tablecloths. The ocean breeze floated through the open windows and Pete thought nobody had ever looked more stunning in the light of the dying sun, Patrick’s porcelain skin set ablaze with golds and oranges. They talked about things that were both insignificant and weighty. They discussed how Tailspin was the greatest cartoon of their childhood, they talked about watching friends die in combat, they talked about what they hoped to do with their lives in the future once that future was safe again, they talked about who they bet was going to perform at the halftime show and if something would go epically wrong. They talked about past relationships and hardships, about triumphs and which color of M&M tasted the best. 

 

At the end of the night, the waiter left the check and Pete reached for it, giving Patrick a glare to forestall the argument he could already see starting. 

 

“No. I’m paying because I’m taking _you_ on a date. End of discussion.” 

 

Patrick’s glare was both adorable and _not working_ , and Pete just grinned and slid a hundred dollar bill in and stood up, holding out his arm. “May I have the honor of your company on the walk back?” 

 

“Considering I’m homeless if I say no, lead the way.” Patrick’s hand was still warm as it wrapped around him, tucking into the crease of his elbow like he was meant to be there, and Pete’s heart felt like it would burst. 

 

“So. Was that a good date?” Pete was trying for confident and suave, but even to his ears it came out sounding a bit unsure. A small smile tucked up the corners of Patrick’s mouth and he gave Pete a look that was equal parts innocence and flirtation. 

 

“Depends how the night ends…think I’m going to get lucky?” 

 

Pete choked on the air somehow and looked at his sweetly smiling boyfriend with a grin he knew was totally cheesy but didn’t even care. 

 

“Oh, definitely.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You gotta get lucky after the world's best date, right? ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Sorry this took me SO long to post....I've been on the night shift for the last three weeks and man it's been wrecking my life! This is short, but I hope this is enough to tide you over =) Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me!!

 

The drive home was definitely _charged_ with something, and Pete was immeasurably thankful he had chosen somewhere only ten minutes from his house to eat. They were barely through the door when Patrick kissed him, mashing their lips together as Pete’s wandering hands knocked the hat from his head. He pulled Pete’s vest off and started undoing the buttons on his shirt, and they made a wandering trail to the bedroom, clothes littering the floor as they went. Finally, Patrick pulled Pete down and they kissed deep and hard, Pete grinding his growing hard-on against Patrick’s thigh. 

 

A moan fell from his lips as Patrick wrapped his legs around his hips and bucked up against him. He mumbled against his mouth, the words that came out were garbled, and Pete pulled away as he repeated, “I want you to fuck me.” He stared down at him, eyes widening as he took in the beautiful shirtless perfection under him. 

 

“Huh?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Did I stutter? I. Want. You. To fuck me.” He punctuated each word precisely, and grinned up at Pete. “You said I’d get lucky tonight, didn’t you?” 

 

Nodding frantically, sure his mouth was hanging open like an idiot, Pete grinned—he had a suspicion growing for a while now, but wasn’t sure if he was right…looked like now he was going to find out. Pushing Patrick up the bed more, he unzipped his pants and took his hard cock in his hand, exploring the velvety smoothness like it was a treasure to be marveled over. Patrick groaned and arched up into his hand. “Lube?” Pete fumbled for it and tried to hand it over, but Patrick merely gave him a devilish look between open-mouthed gasps as Pete slowly pumped him, thumb brushing under his head each time. “Do it. Prep me, c’mon make it good.” 

 

 _I was so right,_ he thought with a grin. “Knew it. You’re a total power bottom, aren’t you?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes like he was announcing he’d figured out the sky was blue. “Did you not notice I’m a bit type-A? I like to be in charge.” He made little impatient movements with his hips as Pete smeared lube on his fingers, eyes dark and wide. “Now come on, I want your cock.” 

 

“Aye aye, Cap’n!” Pete couldn’t resist, and it earned him a soft smack on the head from Patrick, who pulled him down for a searing kiss as Pete’s fingers brushed his entrance. He nodded eagerly and Pete slowly worked first one, then two inside, working the muscle gently as he tenderly rubbed his thumb across the underside of Patrick’s balls. Soon enough, he was gasping into Pete’s mouth, back bowed as he rode his hand, barely tensing when he added a third finger tucked in under the other two.

 

“Pete, ‘s good, so good—“ Patrick cut off with a startled gasp as Pete brushed that place inside him and he moaned and bucked up into him. “ _Fuck_ yes, right there… _God.”_ Smiling to himself, Pete feathered the place again and ate up the resultant moan, because holy hell if Patrick wasn’t damn gorgeous like this…flushed and panting and so damn responsive. 

 

“C’mere and fuck me, you.” Patrick gave him a wide smile that held just a hint of authority, and Pete couldn’t help the way he scrambled up his body, slicking up his cock and lining up with Patrick’s entrance. His eyes were dancing, his cheeks flushed and a hungry look on his face.  
  


“Do it, come on you tease— _oh my God.”_ His eyes closed as his head dipped back into the mattress as Pete pushed into him, slowly moving in a centimeter at a time. Patrick’s lower lip was caught between his teeth as he pulled a shuddering breath in, body adjusting to the new fullness. When Pete stopped, worried about the sudden silence in the room, Patrick opened his eyes and nodded, silent with blown pupils, urging him on. Carefully, Pete continued sliding in, Patrick’s back arching as he bottomed out. 

 

“ _Fuck_.” Patrick’s lips were parted and Pete couldn’t resist ducking his head and capturing them in a searing kiss, tongues sliding and colliding, lips and teeth and heat. Groaning, Patrick buried his hands in Pete’s hair and pulled him closer, rocking his hips up and making them both break the kiss, gasping at the waterfall of sensations. 

 

 _“_ Holy shit, babe—“ Pete groaned as Patrick clenched and suddenly he couldn’t hold back and fervently hoped he had given him enough time to adjust. He pulled out a few inches and plunged back in, gratified as Patrick gasped and arched his back again, seeking to be closer. 

 

“More, Pete, come on, I’m not going to break _.”_ Patrick’s eyes were open again and he was looking at him beneath heavy-lidded eyes that were begging silently despite the haughty smile on his face. Unable to do anything else, Pete nodded and pushed Patrick’s legs up to his chest and started thrusting in earnest. For the first few, he was worried that maybe this was too much, that Patrick wasn’t really—but that thought quickly flew out of his head as Patrick threw his head back and moaned, long and sinful. His breathing started to stutter and his eyes were squeezed shut with pleasure.

  
It was good—it was _so fucking good_ Pete felt like everything in his body was simultaneously spasming and unlocking all at once. He felt the beginnings of his orgasm coiling in his belly when Patrick unexpectedly opened his eyes and pushed him away. 

 

“What, are you—?” He started but Patrick cut him off with a shake of his head and a push to the chest. 

 

“On your back. _Do it.”_ Pete’s body obeyed almost without his mind even processing what he was being told. He rolled to his back and Patrick followed him over, straddling his hips and smiling lasciviously. With clearly-affected disinterest, he gave his own cock a few slow strokes, breath hitching but his eyes never straying from Pete’s. “Wanna ride you.” He took Pete’s swollen cock and lined it up, a shudder moving through him as the head went in that was one of the hottest things Pete was pretty sure he’d ever seen. _You’re gonna have to make a list_ his brain noted distantly, because there had been quite a few times already that he had decided that something Patrick did was the hottest…and then found a new one. He was getting pretty fond of it, the discovery. 

 

That left his mind as Patrick sank down all the way, burying Pete to the hilt in the tightest, best thing in the entire world. Neither of them lasted very long after that—Patrick set a relentless rhythm that had them both gasping with pleasure as Pete thrust up as best he could on each of his downstrokes. Soon Pete was grasping Patrick’s hips to pull him down as he came with blinding force, orgasm thundering through him like exhaust from a jet-engine. Patrick moaned and his hand worked over his own cock once, twice and then he was coming in great spurts over Pete’s chest. It was dirty and sticky and Pete _loved_ it. 

 

Tumbling down to the bed, Patrick lay on his back gasping, pink-flushed chest heaving as he looked over at Pete. His eyes sparkled and a carefree smile flittered across his lips. 

 

“Best date ever. I think I'll keep you.” 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion BBQ, San Diego Style!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is @Shattered_Mirrors_And_Lace's favorite chapter...I hope you all enjoy it! =) Thank you for reading!

 

He knew he was practically bouncing up and down with happiness, but in light of it all, who cared? Patrick was in San Diego with him, the sun was shining, he had some of the best sex of his life in the last couple days, and _Patrick had made cookies_. He didn’t know what kind—he had reluctantly left to go to to some dumb mandatory post-deployment group briefing and in that time, Patrick had somehow found the time to go to the store (Lord knows he didn’t have anything that would have resulted in cookies in his house), bake cookies, and pack them tightly into a container that Pete couldn’t see into. Patrick had sweetly rebuffed his attempts to figure out what kind of cookies they were, but he had consoled him by giving Pete the most glorious head in the world, pressed up against the counter. Then, of course, he had then needed to reciprocate until Patrick slid down to the floor with pink cheeks, his pants around his ankles and a shell-shocked-but-dopey, all-fucked-out grin on his face. Pete was pretty sure that he’d be able to hear the noises that Patrick had made in his mind whenever he stepped foot in the kitchen from now on…and he was totally okay with that. 

 

Pulling into Long’s neighborhood, he parked and grinned at Patrick as he cut the ignition. “Dude, the guys are so stoked to see you! Just be ready for…well…” _Lots of jokes and inappropriate ass-slapping and maybe some oddly-personal questions?_ That about covered the basics, but how to say that without scaring the shit out of Patrick?

 

He was cut off from having to figure that out by his boyfriend— _holyshitmyBOYFRIEND!—_ pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, and he once again was lost in how amazing that was. A soft whimper escaped him when he pulled away, eliciting a wry smile from Patrick. “Don’t worry, babe. I can handle it.” He actually _winked_ and then got out of the car, cradling the container of cookies like it was precious cargo. 

 

Pete grinned as they walked to the door and he opened it, not even bothering to knock. 

 

“Long, where are you, dick nugget?”

 

“Right here, you beautiful cocksucker.” Long skidded into the hallway, and wrapped Pete in a hug. Seeing the other occupant over Pete’s shoulder, he exclaimed happily, “Speak of the devil, Patrick! So good to see you, man!” He let go of Pete and wrapped Patrick in a hug, dwarfing the smaller man and Pete couldn’t help the snicker. Long was the only person on the team who gave him any competition on his title as Most Disgustingly Affectionate. 

 

Letting Patrick go, he ushered them into the house, opening the sliding glass door to the backyard. Pete went first, and was greeted with various endearments ranging from _Wentz! How’s your asshole?_ to _bro, we were ready to come rescue you, I brought my tactical gear and everything in case he was holding you hostage_ to _dude, what the fuck you get a boyfriend and forget about your side bitches!?_ Pete laughed with them but then looked around to see if Patrick was bothered…but his boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. 

 

“Yo, Long! What did you do with my boyfriend?” That was met with a chorus of catcalls and hollers from the gathered SEALs, but he knew it was all in good fun. 

 

“Uh, Kelsea found him. Sorry man, nothing I could do. Collateral damage.”  Pete rolled his eyes, but then the sliding glass door was opening, and Long’s wife, Kelsea was stepping through, followed by Patrick.

 

Holding a tray with the cookies. 

 

“Hey guys.” Patrick’s smile was genuine, if not a little bit more reserved than the smiles Pete had been getting from him in the last three days. Kelsea interjected before anyone could say anything, “Oh my God, wait ‘till you guys try these cookies! They’re seriously the best things I’ve ever eaten.” Of course, one doesn’t just say something like that to a crowd of SEALs returning from war…so they said their hellos to Patrick as they pulled cookies from the tray…and then all hell broke loose. 

 

“Dude, what the FUCK. These are amazing!” 

 

“Who puts Oreos _inside_ chocolate chip cookies? Bro you are a wizard!” 

 

“Yeah, Wentz, dude, you can’t ever break up with this guy. Seriously.” 

 

Pete snagged the last cookie from the tray and shoved it in his mouth—it was delicious. There was an Oreo buried in the middle of a rather thick chocolate chip cookie, and the whole thing was just amazing. He closed his eyes and savored, before being jostled by Garcia. 

 

“I may be your best friend, _muchacho_ , but I do not want to see your O-face like that. Keep it in your pants!” Walking over to Patrick, he wrapped the younger man in a hug. “So good to see you, dude! You treating my baby boy right?” 

 

Patrick blushed at that as he handed the now-empty tray back to Kelsea. “Doing my best.” 

 

“Gross, I didn’t need to know that.” Garcia laughed and Pete was relieved to see Patrick laughing too. “What have you been up to since you’ve been back? Besides sending Wentz here emails that made him giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.” 

 

“About a million appointments and shots and psych evals and all the bullshit the Air Force could come up with.” Patrick gave a wry grin. “I think all that was more traumatic than the actual deployment. Oh and also catching up on How I Met Your Mother.” 

 

“Oh MY GOD I love that show!!! What season are you on…” And with that, Pete realized he had lost his boyfriend to his best friend, at least until they had finished analyzing all of Barney and Ted’s past relationships, and debating who they would ultimately end up marrying, and of course who the “mother” was. 

 

Moving over to say hello to Chief Edwards who was smoking his pipe like a chimney, Pete smiled at the warm feeling of having his team back together. These guys were his family, and it was the greatest thing in the world to have his family all back together under the sunny Southern California skies drinking beers. It was even more special considering they hadn’t lost anyone…that they were _all_ back here together, safe. Hilelston was grilling burgers—a custom combination of pork sausage and ground sirloin that was spiced with his closely-guarded Top Secret Blend—and they had _actual_ beer instead of whatever that swill was they had scammed in the desert. But best of all, he had his _boyfriend,_ who he could actually kiss and hug and touch all he wanted now. 

 

After exchanging greetings with the Chief—and giving him shit for how poorly the Green Bay Packers were doing that season, to which Chief sternly informed him _I can demote your ass back down, Wentz, don’t make me—_ he made his way over to Patrick, who was still deep in conversation with Garcia, now about Battlestar Galactica. 

 

“Garcia, I need his mouth for just a second, will you shut the fuck up?” He bent down and pressed a deep kiss to Patrick’s mouth, ignoring his best friend’s whistle. Patrick’s cheeks were flushed the most gorgeous shade of pink when he pulled away and sat down next to him, an inquisitive look on his face. 

 

“What was that for?” 

 

Pete just grinned at him before leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “Making up for the fact I couldn’t do that at our last barbecue.” Patrick blushed deeper but took Pete’s hand, lacing their fingers together before going back to proving some Very Important Point to Garcia. 

 

A clinking sound cut the noise as Cooper knocked the muzzle of a M-4 against his beer bottle. 

 

“Alright pisspots, listen up. Before we get too drunk, it’s time for the traditional friendly competition. Fastest strip and reassemble wins.” The gathered men cheered and hollered, already starting to make bets on who was going to win and—more importantly—who was going to lose. Cooper held the rifle above his head—a good five inches above anyone’s reach since he was the tallest member of the team. “Order’s gonna be age before beauty, because if we went by Beauty, I’d go first since I’m the sexiest motherfucker here.” That was met with a chorus of hoots and insults about Cooper’s mustache, but they settled down. “Alright, since I don’t remember how old any of you pansies are, let’s just start from the bottom. 20, 21, 22, 23—“

 

“Patrick’s 23!” Garcia hollered out, and Pete froze. He had forgotten like an idiot, his boyfriend was technically the youngest of them all, and he _didn’t believe in killing—_

 

“Babe, you don’t—“ Pete tried desperately of an excuse that would allow Patrick to duck out of the competition without either revealing his moral beliefs to the team, or making him look like a total pushover to a group of his best friends who also ate bullets for breakfast. 

 

But Patrick merely smiled and shook his head, murmuring a soft _It’s alright._ He walked over to where Cooper was standing and took the rifle. 

 

“Full strip or field strip?” 

 

“Field, otherwise we’ll be here all night.” 

 

Patrick nodded serenely, earning him a few calls of ‘ _atta boy!_ and _get it, Chair Force!_ “Who’s timing?” 

 

Garcia stood, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I am. Gotta do it under four minutes, otherwise we’ll kick you out, cookies or no cookies white boy!” 

 

Nodding, Patrick set the rifle on the picnic table and looked up at Pete, a small smiled tinged with something he couldn’t quite identify flitting across his lips. But then Garcia yelled “On your mark, get set, _go!”_ and Patrick’s eyes left his and _holy fuck._

 

His movements were precise, with no wasted movement and almost clinical in their efficiency. He had the rifle in pieces laid out on the table neatly before an affirmative from Cooper signaled he could start putting it back together. He reassembled it even faster than he had taken it apart, all the pieces clicking into place like clockwork. The team had been silent as he took it apart, surprise keeping their mouths shut, but as he neared the end of the task, they began to cheer him on, with the loudest voice of them all being Pete’s. Finally, Patrick snapped the last piece into place and set the rifle on the table, putting his hands in the air and stepping back. 

 

“2:21!” Garcia hollered out. “Holy shit white boy, that was _good!!”_ Patrick smiled and went back to sit by Pete, good-naturedly accepting the back-slaps and high-fives from the guys on the way. 

 

Sitting down, he grinned at Pete. “You should probably close your mouth before something flies in it and lays eggs.” 

 

Pete closed his mouth and shook his head, taking Patrick’s hand. “You’re just full of surprises, Lunchbox.” Patrick merely laced their fingers together and turned back to watch the rest of the team take their turn. 

 

He ended up with the second fastest time, bested by Creswell who did a ridiculous dance when he won. Cooper plopped a crown made from a cardboard six-pack holder on his head and they all applauded before each taking a shot of Creswell’s favorite liquor—which Garcia loudly complained _you don’t shoot gin, you fucktard—_ as a sign of fealty. Then the party dissolved into a rowdy evening of burgers, Kelsea’s potato salad, jokes and lots of beers. 

 

Pete was thrilled to see Patrick was able to keep up with the team, drinking whiskey on the rocks when they ran out of beer and started breaking into the bottles of hard liquor. His cheeks were adorably flushed, but he was still talking an animated blue streak with Cooper about airline horror stories, each trying to beat the other’s tale of woe from being stuck in an airport or a seat-mate from hell or the time that the plane took off three times and had to keep coming back to Philly due to weather. Pete came up behind his boyfriend, slipping his hand into his back pocket. Patrick merely leaned into him and kept talking. 

 

His story was interrupted by Long pulling his giggling wife over and wrapping an arm around Patrick. He reeked of vodka and Kelsea was blushing.

“Patty, I told my gorgeous wife here that you were my Plan B if she ever left me…and she’s decided that we need to test out if it’s gonna work or not.” 

 

Patrick’s eyes widened as he looked between Long, Kelsea and Pete. “T-test what?”

 

“If I could make it with a dude.” Turning pleading eyes to Pete, Long gave him his best puppy-dog impression. “Wentz, bro, will you kill me if I kiss your boyfriend? Cause I mean, I can’t disappoint my hot wife and all…” 

 

Pete looked at Patrick, gauging if the younger man felt uncomfortable with the request. But Patrick was merely rolling his eyes and giving Pete a patronizing look that was tinged with drunken-friendliness. Pete grinned and lifted the hand that wasn’t in Patrick’s pocket in a conciliatory gesture. “Patrick can do what he wants, he’s a big boy.” 

 

Long hollered “Yes!” at that, which made the remaining SEALs who weren’t totally inebriated look over, and Kelsea giggled some more. Scrunching up his face like he was leaning in to kiss a taxicab floor and not Pete’s incredibly hot boyfriend, Long pressed the world’s fastest peck to Patrick’s lips. He opened one eye and looked at Patrick, and then vigorously shook his head. 

 

“Nope! Sorry Stumph, not into guys.” Long laughed and pulled his wife close, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, sweetheart!” 

 

Not one to let an opportunity like this pass him up, Pete pushed Long playfully. “You did it wrong, idiot!” He pulled Patrick in and dipped him, pressing a searing kiss to his lips. He shivered a bit when Patrick melted into it, his tongue flitting out to tease him before he pulled away. The guys all hollered and Kelsea squealed as Pete stood a furiously-blushing Patrick back up. 

 

“THAT’S how you kiss a guy!” He declared to cheers and catcalls as Patrick hid his face on Pete’s shoulder.

 

Soon after that, he pulled a half-drunk and sleepy Patrick from the lawn chair in front of the firepit, and bundled him into the car. He grabbed one of his uniform jackets from the backseat and covered him up with it as Patrick curled up in the seat, and off they went. The traffic was bad—some sort of accident—and Pete couldn’t resist. 

 

“Babe?”

 

“Mmmm?” Patrick sounded sleepy, but he opened his eyes and looked up at Pete. 

 

“…I didn’t think, I mean, where did you learn to strip a rifle like that?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Just because I don’t believe in violence doesn’t mean I’m afraid of guns. My dad was in the Army, remember? I’ve been doing stuff like that since I was really young.” A gleam twinkled his eyes. “I went slower than usual—I can actually do it in 1:45.” 

 

Pete shook his head. “Didn’t want to show us up?” 

 

“It’s never good to be cooler than your boyfriend’s friends. At least to their faces.” Patrick stated matter-of-factly, before closing his eyes again. 

 

Shaking his head, Pete settled his eyes on the road as the cars began to speed up past the accident, thinking about how he’d never get tired of hearing Patrick say _boyfriend._  


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parting is such sweet sorrow...but it makes the reunions that much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, I want to first say thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! This was my first "big" story in bandom, and you've all made it delightful. Huge thanks to @Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace for her endless cheerleading and helping me sort out my brain.
> 
> Yet here we are, at the end. There will be an epilogue out shortly, but this is the second-to-last stop on this train. At least for now. Endless thanks for your kind words, and hugs to you all!

 

He glanced at the checkpoint, eyes skittering over the line like he was checking for snipers, measuring how long he could avoid the inevitable. Pete hated the line, he hated the airline for not being delayed six days, he hated the traffic on the way here, he hated everything.

 

Except Patrick.

 

It had been so perfect…more perfect than he knew had ever had any right to even hope for, and just as incredible as he had imagined in all his lazy daydreams. He had spent a fair amount of time trying to convince himself he’d be okay if it hadn’t worked out, if Patrick had turned out to be super unlikable out of uniform (it happened more than you’d expect, he’d found), or that he’d positively be awful in bed, or—the worst of all the possibilities—that he had totally misread the signs and that Patrick just wanted to be friends. But all of those had been wasted worries, and he’d never been more thankful for anything. Patrick was, if it was possible, even _more_ delightful out of uniform and out of the stress of combat life and he was a _literal_ god in bed. The way Patrick’s eyes were devouring him whole definitely suggested that the _yes-I-want-to-be-your-boyfriend_ talk had really happened in real life. 

 

But like all perfect things in life, they never lasted. They almost never remained shining and perfect, unblemished and untarnished by time or distance or the pressures of life. 

 

God he hoped this would be the exception.

 

“I wish I could stay.” Patrick’s voice was soft, tentative. It seemed absurd that after everything they had been through, after all the odds they’d beaten and the times they’d skirted death they would be left at this. That after all they’d said and shared and shown in the dim embrace of Pete’s bedroom, they couldn’t even kiss goodbye, that Pete couldn’t hold Patrick’s hand as they stood staring at each other. He knew Patrick could feel it, too—the way his arms ached to wrap around him, the way his lips cried out to be kissed one more time. 

 

“I wish you could too, so much.” Pete’s hand twitched up to cup Patrick’s cheek, but he caught himself at the last minute, sweeping it up to comb through his hair. “Fuck, I _fucking hate Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”_ The words ground through his teeth like rocks, and he sighed, dejected. Golden epaulets flashed in the corner of his eye and he saw the starred shoulder boards of an Admiral, and knew that as much as he hated it, he had to hold back. He wasn’t kissing goodbye a golden-haired girl, and so the Navy said he couldn’t be anything but friends with the man in front of him. He _couldn’t_ kiss his _boyfriend_ goodbye unless he wanted to inflict the consequences on both of them, because in the eyes of the Navy everyone was straight, because the Uniform Code of Military Justice said it was a crime to be anything else…so nobody was. Nobody loved a boy with creamy skin and eyes the color of Caribbean seashores, nobody wanted to press a kiss to full lips and feel their heart flutter inside the chest of someone who was the same gender. _Nobody felt that way._

 

“I know.” Patrick gave him a small smile, and for some reason it heartened him beyond measure, just that small twitch of those gorgeous lips. _If he can smile, I can smile,_ Pete thought, and he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and clasping a hand to Patrick’s arm. _That’s a bro thing to do, right? Straight dudes do this all the time._ He squeezed, and Patrick copied his gesture, fingers wrapping around his bicep and he grinned. “Before we do something we shouldn’t—and that we already spent the whole morning doing—I’m going to go.” He bent down to pick up his bag, slinging it onto his shoulder and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

 

Nodding past the sudden lump in his throat and wanting nothing more to push the bag off Patrick’s shoulder and dip him in front of every damn person in the terminal and kiss that smile off his face, Pete let go of his arm and gave his best nonchalant salute. “Damn straight. Fly safe, Thriller.” 

 

Patrick’s smile was wide and bright at his callsign, and it made Pete’s heart feel like a hot pocket in the microwave. “Bye, Pete.” He murmured and turned away, handing his ticket and ID to the TSA agent and then slipping into the line. Pete stood watching— _like a loser_ his mind helpfully supplied—but Patrick didn’t look up as he stood in line. He seemed intently focused on something on his phone, and Pete’s desperately tried to silence his mind as he began to wonder _what’s so important that he can’t look at me, who is he so eager to text as soon as I can’t see it, oh God, what if— B_ ut then Patrick snapped it shut and slid it into his bag, looking up and meeting Pete’s eyes. Nothing so cliche as hearts or singing birds came down from the sky to flutter between them, but there was something in Patrick’s eyes, something he could see even with the four rows of line and jostling bodies separating them. It looked a little like peace, a little like longing, a little like happiness, and if Pete was being honest, a little like forever. But he tried to push that down with a stern, _No weddings yet, dumbfuck._  

 

Then his phone buzzed in his back pocket, and out of habit he broke eye contact with Patrick to pull it out and glance at the screen. 

 

_1 New Message from: Patrick Stumph_

 

His head shot up and his eyes met his boyfriend’s one more time, and he could see the smile in them. Patrick winked at him and then was gone, vanishing into the scanner and into the terminal. 

 

Turning away, knowing looking for a final glimpse was a useless and probably silly effort, he opened his phone. 

 

< _I wanted to kiss you goodbye so bad, I wanted to tell you how amazing you are and how the last thing I want to do is leave. But I know we both have jobs to do, and I would never want to endanger that…so until the law catches up with love, I’ll use good old-fashioned words to tell you that you’re perfect and I already miss you and I can't wait to see you again. >_

 

That feeling twisted under Pete’s heart again…it felt like his diaphragm was contorting and trying to strangle his lungs. It felt like forever, and he desperately hoped that it was real, that this was what words like _soulmate_ and _always_ and _love_ felt like. His fingers flew over the keyboard and he couldn’t help the smile from splitting his face in two. 

 

 _< You’re the perfect one, and you’re worth waiting for. Can I start planning now, would that be weird? Cause I totally am.> _Pete felt proud of his restraint and for not (a) declaring his undying love or (b) writing Patrick a novel. His phone buzzed, and he looked at the message.

 

_< It's a weird I'm 100% okay with.>_

 

~//~

 

Two months, four days, and seventeen hours later—not that he had kept count—Pete stepped into the cold embrace of the Norfolk airport and felt his heart finally thaw. Hands covered in the sleeves of his coat, Patrick was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, hair falling over his eyes as he examined his fingers. 

 

“Hey, could you tell me where to drop this classified hard drive?” 

 

Patrick’s head shot up at Pete’s drawled question and he jumped to his feet, wrapping Pete up in a perfectly friendly, totally _friend-like_ hug that lasted for three seconds of heaven. 

 

“You can put it in my car, it’s just outside.” Patrick’s grin was wide, and Pete had to stuff his hand in his jacket pocket to keep from lacing their fingers together, especially considering the near-parade of highly-ranked uniforms that were welcoming home a group of deployers. They walked quickly to the car in silence, throwing Pete’s bag in the backseat. Patrick roared out of the parking lot without a word, his only allowance was to brush his fingers along Pete’s leg when he shifted. Unsure what was going on, Pete decided the best thing to do was wait but that didn’t help much when his head started to whir like always with all the hundred worst-case scenarios. 

 

Patrick unexpectedly didn’t take the exit for the highway like Pete had thought he would. Instead, he pulled into a empty lot for a storage facility, parking the car behind a squat brick building. 

 

“Uhhh…is this the part where you murder me and sell my organs for cocaine?” Pete asked, half joking, half confused. But the answer came in the form of Patrick  climbing over the center console to tackle him, hands dipping down to unbuckle him and pull the back release to lean Pete’s seat as far back as it would go before coming back up and burying themselves in Pete’s hair. 

 

“No, this is the part where I can’t wait until we get home to say hello _properly_ so I pull into a deserted parking lot to make out with you.” Patrick murmured the words with a devilish smile on his face as he looked down at Pete, eyes blue as the midwest sky and lips more inviting than all the gold in the world. 

 

“Oh, well I’d have let you have my organs, but I like your idea better.” Pete slid his hands around Patrick’s waist, thumbs slipping under his polo shirt to caress the soft skin above his waistband. But then Patrick’s lips were on his, and all he could taste and see and feel and hear was _Patrick_. 

 

More than anytime in his life, more than setting foot on American soil after his deployments or opening his front door after a month away in the field, Pete felt like he was _home._


	16. ~Epilogue~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stories have happy endings...and this is definitely one of them =)

 

The early morning light cast an oddly-shaped shadow across the ceiling, painting it an abstract dim yellow that promised the full brilliance of the daylight. 

 

 _Daylight_. 

 

Patrick shifted next to him, just a small, unconscious movement, but his foot brushed softly against his calf, Pete smiled at the reminder that he wasn’t alone. The promise that Patrick was here and today was the day and they were going into it together, and that today’s _together_ also meant _forever._

 

 _Eight years._ It had been eight years of ups and downs and tears and loneliness and perfection. Eight years since he met Patrick at FOB Bastion, eight years since they started dating. Eight years of cross-country flights and deployments, ecstatic hello’s and broken-hearted goodbyes. Pete’s mind drifted back over the ups and downs, distances and hardships…

 

_The way Patrick’s eyes had flashed blue and beautiful at him in the briefing tent on that fateful day in Afghanistan. The cautious smiles they had shared and long afternoons at the picnic tables behind the MWR tent talking about everything and nothing. The stolen kiss goodbye at the airfield as Patrick’s transport plane almost left without him._

 

_The first time he came to San Diego, their perfect day and even more perfect night. The laughter in his eyes when Pete had hesitantly and blunderingly asked if he would want to be more, to take the chance and date and Patrick had said YES._

 

 _The heartbreak every time they said goodbye and the hope in their hearts looking toward the next time they could be together. They felt like stolen moments, eyes in the storm of their separate lives and careers and states. He remembered the day the missing him had gotten too much, the time that he wondered to Garcia over a bottle of whiskey if it was worth it, if the pain of being apart was worth the joy of seeing him. Barney had looked at him with a slightly unsteady gaze and said he had to decide what he wanted more—his life with the SEALs in San Diego or his life with Patrick. They had finished off the handle and the next morning—hungover as hell but never so sure of anything in his life, Pete had booked a last-minute ticket to Norfolk. He had shown up on Patrick’s doorstep and fallen into his arms, blubbering and rambling what was probably an incoherent mess about_ what I want _and_ your career and my career _and_ I figured it out _, because he had. He had realized that he had fought so long and hard in countries all around the world to safeguard the life he thought he wanted…and he realized what he wanted was right in front of him. Patrick had shaken him gently, repeating his name to pull him out of his rambling, then silently handed him an envelope. It was an acceptance letter to San Diego State University for the Liberal Arts program, and Pete had looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. “I decided months ago, Pete. I’m done, I’m done with waking up alone, I’m done with watching death every day. I did my time, I served, I did my part. I want my life to be with you.”_

 

_He smiled remembering the crazy road trip to move Patrick’s stuff to California, the U-Haul breaking down in Tennessee and the huge cinnamon rolls they had gotten in Colorado Springs. Their lives had settled into something easy and perfect and wonderful. Patrick had finished his Bachelor’s at SDSU and now presided over his little kingdom of Pre-K four year olds. The light in his eyes every day made Pete feel like maybe the world was a place worth fighting for, maybe it wasn’t lost beyond repair. It was that light that kept him sane as he had continued his life with the SEALs and the endless cycle of missions and deployments. That light sustained him in the innumerable countries he deployed to over the years—covered in the blood of his friends and enemies he would think of Patrick’s soft smile and the joy in his eyes, and he would tell himself it would be alright._

 

_He thought about the day, six years exactly from the day they met, that he had proposed. The band was simple—silver with a tiny line of channel-set diamonds, and they had sparkled like the tears in their eyes as he had asked. Oh, he knew it wasn’t legal, he knew the Navy would discharge them, he knew it wasn’t REAL in the eyes of the state or the courts. But he didn’t care, he wanted Patrick to know, because that was all that mattered. “I know that you can’t wear this on your left hand, I know that California won’t recognize this as anything more than jewelry—but it means so much more to me, Patrick, YOU mean so much more to me. I want you forever no matter who says we can or can’t. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours, and if we know that, that’s enough until the law catches up to love.” He had echoed back Patrick’s words, and his heart leapt at the way Patrick’s breath hitched at that as he nodded an ecstatic yes._

 

_He thought about the laughter around the barbecue pit or the annual Field Fest as his SEAL team celebrated and drank, carousing and making mischief, and he had Patrick by his side for all of it. He had felt inordinately lucky that Patrick took to the team so well, and they to him, and he felt like they were just one big, happy, dysfunctional family, and he was forever grateful that this team didn’t care, that they had been nothing but supportive of the two of them. But he thought with sadness about when he had made the rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer…Patrick had to wait quietly in the back of the room as he was congratulated by all his supervising Officers and the rest of his leadership. He had ended up waiting in the car for Pete to escape, unable to even stand by his side as he was recognized by his unit. Through it all, he never complained…but Pete would catch him playing with the ring on his right hand, the diamonds glittering softly as he spun it around and around._

 

_But today was the day—they had woken up Wednesday to the news that “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” had been repealed, signed into law that afternoon by President Obama. Pete had texted Patrick an ecstatic “OMG BABY DID YOU SEE THE NEWS HOLY FUCK!!!!” and then rushed home to tackle Patrick in a giant hug as they laughed and cried and danced. They watched the press coverage of the signing, hands clasped in breathless joy. When it was over, Pete had reached over and muted the TV, then turned to face the love of his life. In uncharacteristic silence, he got down on one knee and gently worked the ring off Patrick’s right finger. Starting to cry all over again, he had smiled the biggest smile he thought he’d ever smiled and asked Patrick to marry him—for real, in front of everyone, God and Country and the Navy. He had tears running down his cheeks as he leaned down to press a kiss to Pete’s lips as he whispered “yes” and Pete had slid the ring where it belonged—his left ring finger._

 

_Rolling over gently even though he knew it wasn’t necessary—Patrick could sleep through a nuclear explosion and not even flinch—he settled his face down to look at his bedmate. Same gorgeous lips and pale, porcelain skin. Same long lashes framing what he knew to be the most beautiful eyes in the world. Same heart of gold and million-dollar smiles that had won his heart from the very first day they met…his Patrick, his love, his life._

 

_Today, he’d become his husband._

 

~//~

 

It was nothing fancy, but they didn’t care. The sun was setting into the Pacific as they stood facing each other, the smoke from the fire pits mixing fragrantly with the salty sea air in a heady mix that made Pete feel alive. Garcia was standing in his corona trunks and a white button-up, with a baseball cap on his head backwards. Pete was in a band tee and jeans, Patrick in his favorite sweater/polo and black pants.  As many of their friends who were still around this close to Christmas and Pete’s SEAL team were arrayed in a loose semi-circle around them. It was breezy but abnormally temperate for December, and their hands were warm in each others as they held them clasped between them. Garcia let out a ear-splitting howl and yelled.

 

“Alright, motherfuckers, let’s do this! Gather ‘round and listen up. We’re here today on a GODDAMN MILITARY INSTALLATION because the haters have finally been silenced and—“ he held up his hands and made exaggerated air quotes—“hashtag TRUE LOVE WINS today bitches. That means Patrick and Pete can finally tie the knot without getting their asses reamed any more than usual, so here we are.” Patrick blushed bright red as Pete threw his head back and crowed as everyone laughed. Garcia looked at them both in a hysterically somber way before continuing. “Now, I could give you some smart shit I found on the internet about using protection and that a woman’s place is barefoot in the kitchen”—he gave Pete a significant glance at that, which had everyone cracking up. “—but I’m not going to. I’m going to tell you both that you’re fuckin’ grown-ups, and you’ve been together for forever already and you’re perfect for each other, so just keep doing your thing and being awesome, okay?” He laughed, and gave Patrick a look. “Also, I’m stoked as hell cause now someone else is legally obligated to listen to Pete’s pansy-ass bullshit that isn’t me, so you enjoy that, _amigo_.” Patrick laughed and Pete pretended to look wounded, but they were both smiling as he pulled out his phone, tapping on it a bit. “Cool, so let’s get down to business so we can go back to Long’s and get drunk. Patrick, do you take Pete…” 

  
They said the words, and a hush fell over the group, interrupted only by Kelsey’s muffled sniffling. Patrick’s eyes were huge and blue in his face, a soft smile on his lips as he squeezed Pete’s hands. They spoke the sentences they had been waiting years to say, the words that would make them _belong_ to the other for the rest of their lives as they slipped the wedding bands on each other’s fingers. They said them on a military installation, where just a few days ago they would have been committing a crime for declaring their love, and now here they were saying it for the world to see.  

 

Barney’s voice was uncharacteristically solemn, but the smile was plain on his face. “By the power vested in me by the all-powerful website of the Universal Life Church, I now pronounce you—and it’s about damn time—married for real _._ Wentz _,_ you may kiss your fuckin’ bride!”

 

With a ear-splitting _whoop_ , Pete darted forward and dipped Patrick down and kissed him with all the gusto in his heart. The cheers, whistles, cat-calls and congratulations of their friends echoed all around them, and as he brought Patrick back up and broke the kiss, he could see the laughter and the love in his eyes. 

 

“I love you.” Pete whispered, and Patrick nodded, pulling him into a hug that was everything warm and wonderful and _home_.

 

“Forever.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much my friends for coming along on this journey with me!! It's truly been the time of my life to write this and to read all your lovely comments. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, and I hope this ending fulfills your hopes and dreams. I know it's a bit sappy....but hey, sometimes you need that in your life, right? I know I did. =)
> 
> I'd really love to know if you'd all be interested in reading more about this world. I'm thinking of writing a...part II of sorts? Perhaps Pete gets out of the military and has to deal with some of the hardships of re-integrating into civilian life, which would maybe let me explore some of the effects that PTSD has on veterans. Patrick might get work on his master's in music education and hope to teach music to special-Ed kids? Maybe a baby...I don't know. Those are some of the ideas I have floating around. Would that be of interest to anyone?


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